Harry's Creed
by keiranhalcyon2010
Summary: It's the third year of Harry Potter's education at Hogwarts, he's looking forward to Hogsmeade visits, his friends and new magic. However, trouble begins before he even arrives, and he's flung into an age old struggle for mankind's destiny.
1. Chapter 1

_****A/N: Harry Potter and Assassin's Creed doesn't belong to me. JKRowling and Ubisoft hold the rights. Now that that's out of the way. The idea for this started after I started playing AC - fascinating game and story behind it - I love alternate or behind the scenes history stories - so I was immediately sold. Now I'm just vexed that I have to wait until Dec 2, to get AC:Revelations on PC - bastards - I don't like consoles. Thanks to the Spacebattlers crowd for brainstorming and opinions in refining this._

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**Chapter 1**

It was a highly ordinary suburb. The houses were nearly identical. The hedgerows between them perfectly trimmed. The only variety in sight was of the various identically shaped gardens and lawns where various arrangements of flower beds bloomed, each one clearly trying to better the other. It was late evening and the streets were silent, bar the occasional bark of a dog and the passing of the odd car. The looming electric street lamps and the lights from the houses pierced great swaths through the darkness.

This tableau of normalcy was abruptly interrupted. A new sound emerged into the night; that of small wheels being dragged on pavement and the heavy breathing of exertion. A young teenager of barely thirteen years of age was pulling on a heavy trunk with his left hand, whilst in his right he held what seemed to be a cage for a large bird, which was currently empty.

Harry Potter was about as unusual as anybody in the neighborhood of Little Whinging in Surrey could be. He hated the summer with a passion, and in the past month that had only been reaffirmed even more. This was due to the fact that he was a wizard, and his only living relatives, the Dursleys, were extremely medieval in their attitude to magic.

Harry's dead parents, who had been a witch and wizard themselves, were never mentioned under the Dursleys' roof. For years, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had hoped that if they kept Harry as downtrodden as possible, they would be able to squash the magic out of him. To their fury, they had been unsuccessful. These days they lived in terror of anyone finding out that Harry had spent most of the last two years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The most they could do, however, was to lock away Harry's spellbooks, wand, cauldron, and broomstick at the start of the summer break, and forbid him to talk to the neighbors.

He had thankfully managed to overcome this difficulty. While Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley had gone out into the front garden to admire Uncle Vernon's new company car (in very loud voices, so that the rest of the street would notice it too), Harry had crept downstairs, picked the lock on the cupboard under the stairs, grabbed some of his books, and hidden them in his bedroom. As long as he didn't leave spots of ink on the sheets, the Dursleys need never know that he was studying magic by night.

Harry would've been content (as much as one could be) if that had been the only difficulty this summer, but it was not to be. Aunt Marge was Uncle Vernon's sister. Even though she was not a blood relative of Harry's (whose mother had been Aunt Petunia's sister), he had been forced to call her "Aunt" all his life. Aunt Marge lived in the country, where she bred bulldogs. She didn't often stay at Privet Drive, because she couldn't bear to leave her precious dogs, but each of her visits stood out horribly in Harry's mind. This summer she had chosen to grace Privet Drive with her presence again.

The past week had been a virtual trial of Harry's temper. Aunt Marge had constantly wanted Harry under her eye at all times, so that she could boom out suggestions for his improvement. She had delighted in comparing Harry with Dudley, and took huge pleasure in buying Dudley expensive presents while glaring at Harry, as though daring him to ask why he hadn't got a present too. She also kept throwing out dark hints about what made Harry such an unsatisfactory person. He had gritted his teeth and taken it, but just this evening Marge had made a big mistake.

Harry could handle verbal attacks on his own person, but tonight, Marge had picked the one subject that Harry could not brook to leave unanswered; his parents.

_"You mustn't blame yourself for the way the boy's turned out, Vernon," she had said over lunch on the third day. "If there's something rotten on the inside, there's nothing anyone can do about it."_

_"It's one of the basic rules of breeding," she said. "You see it all the time with dogs. If there's something wrong with the bitch, there'll be something wrong with the pup -"_

_"This one's got a mean, runty look about him. You get that with dogs. I had Colonel Fubster drown one last year. Ratty little thing it was. Weak. Underbred."_

_"It all comes down to blood, as I was saying the other day. Bad blood will out, Petunia. Your sister was a bad egg. They turn up in the best families. Then she ran off with a wastrel and here's the result right in front of us."_

Then, aided with liberal amounts of brandy, she had railed further into Harry's parents, even going so far as to make light of their deaths. That was when he could no longer control himself. His magic had been building in response to this constant assault all week, and now the dam had finally burst. Glassware had shattered all over the kitchen and Aunt Marge, as the source of his agitation, got the full brunt of it.

It was as if she had become human balloon. Her body had begun to rise off her chair toward the ceiling. She had become entirely round, like a vast balloon with piggy eyes, and her hands and feet stuck out weirdly as she had drifted up into the air, making enraged popping noises.

Suffice it to say that Harry had made himself scarce from Privet Drive at that point. He had as quickly as he could packed his things and left, even threatening his Uncle at wandpoint to let him go. Now he was free so to speak and walking hurriedly through the night, keeping an alert eye out. His mind raced as he pondered his predicament. He was stranded, quite alone, with nowhere to go. And the worst of it was, he had just done serious magic, which meant that he was almost certainly expelled from Hogwarts. He had broken the Decree for the Restriction of Underage Wizardry so badly; that he was surprised Ministry of Magic representatives weren't swooping down on him as he walked.

He thought of his two best friends, Ron and Hermione, they could surely help him…if they had even been in the country. Ron was with his family in Egypt and Hermione with her parents in France. He couldn't even use his owl, Hedwig, to send for any help, because he had sent her off to Ron due to Marge's visit. He didn't even have any normal money to use at a payphone, and even if he had, who would he call? He didn't know the number of any of his classmates who also lived the normal world. He could look them up in a phonebook, he supposed, but again…money was the problem.

All he had was wizard gold, and that would first have to be exchanged at Gringotts Wizarding Bank in London. '_That's it, I'm always having a supply of both from now on_,' he resolved. He looked down at his holly wand, which was still clutched in the hand that was also carrying his owl cage. If he had no normal means at his disposal, then he would have to resort to extraordinary. He had the Invisibility Cloak he had inherited from his father – he could bewitch the trunk to make it feather-light, tie it to his broomstick, cover himself in the cloak, and fly to London. Then he could get the rest of his money out of his vault and begin his life as an outcast.

Harry stopped just on the corner of Magnolia Crescent and set down his trunk, his breath coming in gasps. He opened it and pushed its contents aside, looking for the Invisibility Cloak. The oncoming headlights of a car that washed over the street stopped his search. He really didn't want to add breaking the Statute of Secrecy to his list of offenses, so hurriedly put his wand back in the trunk, and firmly locked it. The car was closer now and Harry straightened and tried to look as normal as possible.

'_A teenage boy, alone, on the side of the road in the middle of the night with a trunk and a bird cage_,' Harry ruefully reflected. _'I might as well be flashing a neon sign saying 'Something Fishy goin on here'._'

The car was even closer now, and Harry now finally caught a glimpse of the vehicle; it was actually a van. It was colored in midnight black and its engine was rumbling ominously high. Its tires screeched and before Harry could wipe his eyes out the thing was now almost upon him. Harry was of two minds now…run, or continue to try and uselessly blend in. He didn't know what it was, but the sight of the van made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

He had barely turned in his resolve to get out of there, when the side door opened and two dark as night figures leaped out. Harry felt the air leave his lungs as he was bodily tackled to the ground. He felt his glasses ripped off and before he could even regain any breath to scream, his mouth was obstructed by a gloved hand.

He felt himself lifted off the ground and he struggled to free himself of the iron arms around him. Hitting any part of the man he could reach, but it was useless. He also felt his strength begin to leave him at an alarming rate. He smelled the tang of some sort of chemical as he was carried into the van.

The door slammed shut and Harry vaguely heard a dog barking before the world faded around him and he knew no more.

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Hermione Granger could honestly say that the past summer break had been the worst one she had ever had. It had all started out so well in the first month. She had spent a lot of quality time with her parents touring all a manner of places in France. Due to the fact that she was a witch, they had also seen the magical side of the country too. The history she had learned of was absolutely fascinating. Her parents were also quite interested in seeing historical events from perspective of the magical world. They had eventually reached the Mediterranean coast and would spend the rest of the break there. She looked forward to doing all the sports and swimming that the resort they were staying at offered.

Then the news came that had turned the world upside down. She remembered that day so vividly. She had awoken somewhat early and prepared herself some breakfast in the small villa her parents had rented for their stay. She walked out onto the balcony, her bowl of oats in hand and sat down on one of the comfortable outdoor recliners, looking over the ocean. She was halfway done, when the owl alighted on the railing carrying _The Daily Prophet_; the wizarding newspaper she had subscribed to in an effort to remain in contact with the magical world and learn more about it in the process.

Not everything would be accurate, of course, due to sensationalism and so forth, but it was a useful barometer for the magical world…so to speak. She had reached into the small pouch strapped to her arm and paid the owl for its service with a few bronze Knuts. She had flipped open the newspaper.

The bowl of oats crashed onto the hard tile floor. Hermione stared with horrified eyes at the front page article.

_**HARRY POTTER 'BOY WHO LIVED' KIDNAPPED**_

The large moving picture showed a photo of Harry taken during the last year. He was at Hogwarts in his school robes and smiling somewhat awkwardly for the camera. It was one of the few that Harry had willingly posed for. Usually, he had avoided the photographer; the first year student Colin Creevey, like the plague. Harry had somewhat mellowed on that, after Colin had been Petrified by a Basilisk whilst trying to sneak another picture of Harry in the hospital wing.

Hermione felt tears spring into her eyes, blurring her vision. She rubbed them clear and began to read.

'_Harry Potter, aka 'The Boy Who Lived', has been abducted,' reported a Ministry spokeswizard last night._

_According to the Ministry, young Mr Potter had been walking a few blocks from his home when he was taken by an unknown party against his will. 'The only trace left behind was Mr Potter's glasses. The memories of any Muggles who may have witnessed the event have been examined and the Ministry is following up on those leads.'_

_This terrible news could not come at a worse time for the Ministry, who is already under pressure from the efforts to recapture the escaped Azkaban convict, Sirius Black. (See page 2)…_

The summer that followed seemed to crawl by with interminable slowness. Her emotions were set on a figurative rollercoaster. Her parents were rather understanding under the circumstances, giving her time and space, but they still managed to coax her into actively participating in their holiday.

"We don't know Harry as well as you, dear, but would he want you to just lock yourself in a room for the rest of the holiday?" her father had reasoned.

"No," she had reluctantly answered.

Ron had finally sent the Weasley family owl, Errol, to her a week later with a letter that was much more informative than any of the Daily Prophet articles as his father worked for the Ministry of Magic.

_Dear Hermione,_

_Sorry this letter is so late in coming, given that we're in Egypt the news only reached here a few days ago. Dad's been recalled to England to help, but he insisted that the rest of us were to stay and enjoy our holidays. As if you can enjoy a holiday when your best friend is… _There was a bunch of scribbles at this point, where Ron had clearly struggled to find the words he wanted to convey. _…missing. And I doubt anyone would do this just to serve Harry pumpkin juice. Dad says the Ministry is sure that Sirius Black is somehow involved._

_He's gotten a letter from Dumbledore though and promptly began casting spells on Hedwig. Harry had sent her here to keep her safe from some sort of horrible Dursley relative that had been visiting. Dad managed to find out through what he called the 'The Familiar Bond' that Harry is still alive, but his location was 'shielded from being divined'. There is no way for Hedwig to find him._

_Dad says this casts doubt on the Ministry's idea. Apparently, Sirius Black wants to kill Harry in revenge for what happened to You-Know-Who. So why would Black keep Harry alive then if he really has him?_

_Things are really dreary over here in Egypt. Fred and George are really starting to get on my nerves. They're both trying to cheer me and Ginny up in the most ridiculous ways._

Hermione spent the rest of the summer finding ways to get her mind off her worry for Harry, it wasn't easy. Her nights were occasionally filled with odd dreams, bordering on nightmares which she knew were about Harry, but she struggled to recall anything about them when she woke up. It was if they just drained back into her subconscious, leaving her feeling emotionally wrung out but not knowing why. She turned to the most physically demanding sports the resort offered in an effort to exhaust herself to the point where she had no energy to dream.

Letters from Ron would come every week with more news.

_Hermione, Dad was shown the memory of a Muggle who saw part of the kidnapping. A dark black van was seen speeding off from Magnolia Crescent (where they found Harry's glasses). He also finally told me why Harry was walking there in the middle of the night. Harry had lost his temper with that awful relative, Marge Dursley, and had accidentally blown her up. Dad says he doesn't blame him one bit, they examined the Dursley's memories and apparently they said some horrible stuff and lies about Harry's parents, right into his face._

Finally, the week before Hogwarts was due to start had arrived. Hermione and her parents returned to their home near Oxford and it was time to get organized. She had initially wanted to only go to Diagon Alley the day before the train was due to leave from King's Cross for Hogwarts, so she could meet up with Ron…but…she wanted her coursebooks now. Throwing herself into books would be another way to keep her mind off the worry about what was happening to Harry.

So her parents drove her into London and would while away an hour or so to allow her to do the required shopping. She put on a robe over her normal clothes, quickly giving kisses to her parents before exiting the Mercedes, and hurrying into the Leaky Cauldron.

The pub was filled with its usual assortment of wizards, witches, and dwarves of various creeds and even what looked like a vampire. Hermione walked through the pub and nodded to Tom the innkeeper whilst she walked to the door beyond which was the small courtyard which led into Diagon Alley itself. A few easy taps of her wand later, the brick wall rearranged itself to form a huge archway into the main hidden shopping enclave of the British wizarding world.

The first thing that caught her eye was the posters plastered on the various storefronts. The first being those of Sirius Black; the man was scowling and even occasionally screaming at the camera, whilst holding up a identification board with his name and other statistics written in runes. He hardly looked human and Hermione shuddered at the thought of seeing a face like that in dark alley. In stark contrast, but much more prominent were the posters featuring Harry. This was a formal Hogwarts photo taken last year; he stood with hands behind his back and staring neutrally at the camera, and would occasionally crack a smile. On these there stood written:

_**MISSING**_

_**Harry James Potter**_

_**Age: 13**_

_**Please report any information on his whereabouts**_

_**to the Ministry for Magic.**_

Hermione took a deep fortifying breath to stop herself from crying yet again, and set off down the bustling alley. Her first objective was the Gringotts Wizard Bank to exchange her Pounds for wizard gold. The exchange fees were as exorbitant as usual, but she and her father had thankfully budgeted enough to cover that this year. Next she went to the Apothecary to replenish her store of potions ingredients.

On the way to the bookstore she noticed, there was a continuous crowd around Quality Quidditch Supplies and Hermione spared a brief glance at the storefront.

** THE FIREBOLT **

THIS STATE-OF-THE-ART RACING BROOM SPORTS A STREAM-LINED,

SUPERFINE HANDLE OF ASH, TREATED WITH…

She stopped there and continued on; Quidditch had never been but a passing interest for her, due to the fact that she was terrible on a broom, and now the fact was that it reminded her of Harry and she really didn't want to think of him now, lest she break into tears in the middle of the alley.

She stopped in front of Flourish and Blotts, and was surprised that the store lacked their usual display. There was a large iron cage behind the glass that held about a hundred copies of a book called _The Monster Book of Monsters_. Torn pages were flying everywhere as the books grappled with each other, locked together in furious wrestling matches and snapping aggressively. She honestly wondered who in their right mind would enchant books to act like aggressive animals, not to mention cage them all together after the fact.

As Hermione entered, the manager came hurrying toward her. "Hogwarts?" he said abruptly. "Come to get your new books?"

"Yes…"

"Get out of the way," said the manager impatiently, brushing Hermione aside. He drew on a pair of very thick gloves, picked up a large, knobbly walking stick, and proceeded toward the door of the Monster Books' cage.

The manager opened the cage carefully. The books, instantly sensing possible freedom, tried to hurl themselves out. The manager caught one deftly in his right hand, and stuffed it under his arm, whilst smacking the other books back into the cage with the walking stick. When there was a brief lull, the manager hurled himself against the cage door, and clamped it shut. He carried the Monster Book to the counter and bewitched a leather belt to clamp itself around it.

"Whew," he wiped sweat from his brow. "There you go, Miss, anything else?"

"_Unfogging the Future_ by Cassandra Vablatsky," she answered shortly.

The manager stripped off his gloves and led Hermione into the back of the shop, where there was a corner devoted to fortune-telling. A small table was stacked with volumes such as _Predicting the Unpredictable: Insulate Yourself Against Shocks _and _Broken Balls: When Fortunes Turn Foul_. He picked out _Unfogging the Future_ and they returned to the counter, placing the book on top of unhappily growling Monster Book.

"What else?" he said.

"I need, _Beginner Arithmancy_ by Barnaby Vector, _A Study of Ancient Runes; The Complete Runic Alphabets_, _Muggle What?_ by Charity Burbage, _Intermediate Transfiguration_ and _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade Three_."

"You're taking all the elective subjects?" the manager gasped, looking somewhat impressed.

"Yes, I am…it's my choice, so?"

"No, no, not criticizing," he hastily assured her. "It's just somewhat rare; most students are just content with the two compulsory electives."

"Then obviously I don't fall into that category."

"Yes indeed," he nodded. "Very well, let's count the price, shall we?"

"Before you do that, I also want to browse for other titles," she interrupted.

"Very well, give me a shout when you're ready to pay."

Hermione left the shop with her coin purse lighter and laden with two bags filled with books and other school supplies, thankfully charmed to be feather light as a free service due to the amount of money she'd spent. A look at her watch told her she still had more than enough time to go shopping for an early birthday present with the extra money her father had given her. It was something that had been somewhat saddening for the past two years that she hadn't been able to celebrate a birthday with her family due to being away at Hogwarts.

So she headed into the Magical Menagerie. There was only really one practical thing she could think of that was within the ten Galleon price range of the money she had left, and that was an owl. It could deliver letters to her parents as often as she wanted without having to burden the school owls, which had to service the entire Hogwarts student population (those without owls of their own), not to mention she could now mail order books as well.

There wasn't much room inside. Every inch of wall was hidden by cages. It was smelly and very noisy because the occupants of these cages were all squeaking, squawking, jabbering, or hissing. A pair of enormous purple toads sat gulping wetly and feasting on dead blowflies. A gigantic tortoise with a jewel-encrusted shell was glittering near the window. Poisonous orange snails were oozing slowly

up the side of their glass tank, and a fat white rabbit kept changing into a silk top hat and back again with a loud popping noise. Then there were cats of every color, a noisy cage of ravens, a basket of funny custard-colored furballs that were humming loudly, and on the counter, a vast cage of sleek black rats that were playing some sort of skipping game using their long, bald tails.

The witch behind the counter had three customers in a queue, so Hermione headed over to the section of the store dedicated to owls. Since it was day, all of them were asleep with their heads tucked under their wings. The store had Screech, Tawny, Snowy, Eagle and Long-Eared owls. Her first consideration of price, ruled out Eagle owls immediately. Snowy's were affordable, but she couldn't even look at them and not be reminded of Harry. She also wanted an owl that could carry a decent bit of weight.

"Looking for an owl, dearie?"

Hermione nodded to the witch, who had finished with her previous customers. A few minutes later she was leaving with a particularly handsome male Long-Eared Owl and was considering various names for it. She left the Leaky Cauldron back into London with her robe folded over her arm, shopping and owl in her hands and scanning the road for her parent's car. A persistent hooting attracted her attention and there was the familiar silver Mercedes. She rushed forward as the car pulled over, the door opened and she flung herself inside quickly as car horns sounded behind them.

"All right, honey?" her mother asked as the car merged back into the London traffic.

"Fine," Hermione let out a breath of exertion, and settled the shopping bags and her new owl on the seat next to her.

"Nice owl that," her father complimented with a smile, his eyes focused on the traffic around them.

"Know how to take care of it, dear?"

"Honestly mom," Hermione shook her head, "I've researched it and I've seen Harry take care of Hedwig…"

"Just checking," she sing-songed back.

Getting through London took over an hour before the car emerged on the highways and Hermione had long since settled into reading some of her extra-curricular purchases. As usual when she lost herself in a book, time ceased meaning and so it was a surprise when the car came to a halt in front of her home. She ruefully put in a bookmark and closed the book.

Her parents helped her take her Hogwarts shopping inside to her room and she spent the next hour carefully sorting it in her trunk, whilst keeping those books she wanted to read in her bookshelf.

_Crack! _

Ordinarily it could be mistaken as the sound of a car backfiring, but it had an extra otherworldy quality that she recognized instantly and she wondered with alarm why any wizard or witch would apparate into her backyard?

That was when she heard her mother scream.

Hermione threw herself to her trunk, her heart in her throat and thudding as she snatched her wand into hand and charged out of her room and down the stairs.

Her mother's urgent summons echoed through the house, "Hermione!"

She emerged into the kitchen with her wand leading and she saw both her parents crouched around a prone figure on the patio. She rushed out in time to see her mother rip the figure's shirt open. It was only when Hermione was beside her father that she saw who it was…and the blood.

Her wand clattered on the patio stones from her sudden nerveless fingers.

"Harry!"

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He winced from the sharp light as his eyes briefly fluttered open. He carefully catalogued what his other senses were telling him; he was in a soft bed with warm linens, he had stiff unfamiliar pajamas on, the air around him was rather bland with no pollution or any other smells. He carefully flexed his muscles and was relieved when the reports told him he was in his _own_ body. Finally, he risked opening his eyes fully, bearing the pain of the harsh light that was coming from a large curtained window.

The room had white walls and was roughly three meters by four in size, with a similarly white ceiling. On the wall facing the foot of his bed was a large portrait of a dour looking wizard with glasses perched on his nose, seated in a study and reading a book. Harry watched as the wizard turned the page and continued reading. His eyes found a brass plaque underneath the portrait.

'_I'm in St Mungos,_' he thought with slight relief. He noticed the two soft chairs next to his bed at this point and saw that they bore the evidence of having been sat in recently.

"Ah, you're awake," the portrait wizard noted idly and stood with a groan before walking out of the frame. Harry turned to the door of his room expectantly, and sure enough it opened to reveal a witch wearing the standard white Healer's robes. She was rather pretty and had that ineffable bearing of her profession – the one that let you know you were in good hands with her.

"Good morning, Mr Potter. I'm Healer Smythe, how are you feeling?"

Harry took a quick stock, "All right for having been shot in the guts, I suppose."

"Nasty business Muggle weapons," Smythe declared grimly, reaching into a pocket to produce two bloody bullets in a glass vial. "Most wizards scoff at the idea that a muggle can threaten them in any way. Well, Healers know better – those guns can kill far beyond the range of any spell and it can happen in the blink of an eye."

She put down the vial on the bed stand, drew her wand and began waving it in precise motions over his abdomen. He watched her carefully until she finished his body tense should she try anything – he couldn't help his own paranoia at the moment.

"Looking good so far," she said with a smile, now handing him a potion. "Bottoms up, Mr Potter, Blood Replenisher."

Harry drank it down in one gulp, wanting to get it over with. "You wouldn't happen to know where my wand and clothes are? And how long have I been here?"

"Everything that was on your person is in the lower drawer of the bed stand," Smythe explained. "You were brought here by your friend, Miss Granger roughly two days ago."

"Thank you," Harry nodded, glad that his rather desperate escape plan had worked.

"There are two Aurors who wishes to speak to you, Mr Potter. Medically you are fine, but if you don't feel up to it I can send them packing…"

Harry shook his head, "That's all right Healer Smythe, I can manage."

She bustled out of the room and next to enter were a wizard and witch, dressed in the loose brief dark red robes of dark wizard hunters, worn over normal clothing. The wizard was a tall, broad shouldered, completely bald and dark skinned. The witch on the other hand was short with long auburn hair and had a lithe build that showed she was no slouch physically.

"Mr Potter, I am Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt," the wizard greeted with a deep voice, "my partner Auror Kendra Follet."

"Pleased to meet you," Harry carefully sat up and propped his pillows behind his back.

"The pleasure is ours, Mr Potter," she said with half grin.

"We are here to ask for any information which could shed light on your kidnapping, Mr Potter. What can you tell us?"

"Not as much as I'd like," Harry admitted ruefully. "I was walking away from Privet Drive…uh…I'm not in trouble for inflating Marge, am I?"

Shacklebolt chuckled with mirth, "No, Mr Potter. We examined the memories of Majorie Dursley before Obliviating her. Not a soul in the country would blame you for that bit of accidental magic. Go on…"

"Okay… erm, I was walking away when a van approached, I thought it would pass me by…I was also very conspicuous…it's not every day you see a kid with a trunk and owl walking down the middle of the night, so I stopped walking. The side door opened and a figure wearing all black and a ski mask tackled me. They covered my mouth with something that made me fall asleep near instantly.

I woke up some time later, I'm not sure how much time had passed…at least a few days because I was dressed in new clothes and freshly bathed. It was a room much like this one, single bed, no windows, and a single door. I was given food through a flap three times a day…at least I think it was days. There was no way I could tell time…and each day a woman would come and escort me out the room. The next thing I know I'm back in the room… waking up with another fresh meal waiting to be eaten."

Both Aurors looked at each other with disappointment.

"I was probably obliviated each time, wasn't I?"

"It seems so, Mr Potter," Shacklebolt looked thoughtful, "this woman, did you see her face?"

"Yes," Harry frowned, "it struck me as weird that they let me see her when they were going through the effort of removing my memory so precisely. She was a bit taller than you, Auror Follet, short dark blonde hair, heart shaped face, blue eyes…"

"She never mentioned her name?"

"No."

"More than likely a disguise," Shacklebolt mused. "How did you escape?"

"She helped me."

"What?" Follet blinked in astonishment. "Your captor helped you?"

"Yes, handed me my wand, broom and Invisibility Cloak, then escorted me out."

"What was outside your room?"

"A long hallway with lots of doors – we never passed a window or any place that would let me see outside. I can only tell you the building was very large with multiple floors. I was detected anyway… the alarms were going off. She pushed a Portkey on me and put me on an elevator to the roof. I walked out but two security men were on the roof, I figure they managed to get two bullets in me before I could use it."

"On the roof," Shacklebolt wondered, "did you get a look of the surroundings?"

"It was a large city, but it happened too quickly…" Harry shook his head.

"This Portkey took you to Hermione Granger's back yard?" Follet enquired.

"Did it?" Harry wondered. "The woman said I would find my way to safety using it. She was right then."

"What was the object used for the Portkey?"

"A small silver coin."

Shacklebolt sighed wearily, sharing a look with his partner, "Was there any indication that this woman who helped you was a witch?"

"She never had a wand, but I saw her only briefly – she knew what my magical stuff was though."

The two Aurors looked at each other before Shacklebolt said in a very officious sounding voice, "Mr Potter, would you consent to having your memories of your time in captivity copied for examination by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement?"

"I will," Harry nodded with a bemused look on his face.

"Sorry, but it's a formality and procedure that has to be observed," Shacklebolt grinned and pulled out his wand slowly. "Now, I would ask you to close your eyes and remember the time from when you were standing on that street until you used that Portkey that put you in the Granger's backyard."

Harry complied and felt the hard wood of a wandtip pushed against his temple – there a slight ephemeral feeling in his head – and just like that it was over. He looked to his right and saw a large droplet of silvery liquid-gas that hung from Shacklebolt's wand, which the Auror placed into small vial produced from a pocket.

"Thank you, Mr Potter. We'll be in touch if we have any follow up questions based on your memory."

"Good day, Aurors."

When he was alone he leaned back with a sigh and began to smile. The game was afoot.

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	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

It was in the afternoon of that same day of his awakening that found Harry still in his bed, sitting up with parchment and school books strewn about him, deftly writing with a quill. It was the unfortunate consequence of having had no access to his books, by virtue of them being locked up, and then being kidnapped that had not allowed him to do any of the holiday assignments that had been set the previous academic year. He doubted that his Potions Master, Professor Severus Snape, would give one whit about any excuses.

Harry could just imagine it. The man would stand over him, looking down his beaky nose, his near black eyes glaring in contempt and say, 'So Potter, managed to get yourself kidnapped, eh? Twenty points from Gryffindor for being so careless, and another ten for failing to do the assignment.'

He gave a sigh of relief at finally finishing the essay, capped his ink carefully and blew on the parchment softly to get the last few paragraphs dry. He had barely given it a few puffs before he heard footsteps approaching his door, four people – three with adult strides; two women, one man, and an adolescent girl.

Harry shook his head – such analytical habits were automatic now as breathing. The knock on the door he also knew to be Healer Smythe – the timbre of her knuckles and flesh against the wood told him it was a female hand and only she would be knocking anyway.

"Yes?" he called.

The Healer entered with her habitual friendly smile, which faded slightly as she saw his unshrunken trunk, books and the general state of the room. "I was going to ask if you were up to more visitors, but clearly if you can do homework, Mr Potter…"

"Thank you Healer Smythe, send them in."

She stepped aside and Harry quickly put aside his parchment and ink on the bed stand. He braced himself and was not disappointed when Hermione Granger set a new land speed record, and nearly proceeded to hug the stuffing out of him.

"Hello, Hermione, good to see you again." She didn't say anything but he felt that she was crying and he saw her parents now standing at the foot of the bed with a mixture of amused and somber expressions. He patted and gently rubbed her on the back. "Hey, hey, easy there. I'm alright."

She pulled back hesitantly, her hazel eyes brimmed with tears and her frizzy hair a mess. "Oh, I promised myself I wouldn't do this…sorry, I'm so glad you're okay, Harry," she rubbed the tears away with sleeve.

"No doubt thanks to all three of you," Harry nodded. "Thank you Doctors Granger."

"You're welcome, young man," Hermione's father stepped forward. "It's been a while since we had to deal with a gunshot wound – not really standard fare for dentists."

Harry held out his hand, "Never really had chance to properly introduce myself last year. Not with that Lockhart ponce getting in the way."

"Alan Granger," they shook hands. Harry felt that the hand beneath him was very dexterous as to be expected of a Doctor and dentist. "This is my wife, Belinda."

Belinda Granger extended her hand, and he lightly shook hands with her as well, "Pleasure, Mr Potter. Most of the thanks must go to Hermione, all we could do with what we had in the house was to stabilize your condition temporarily – she had the presence of mind to quickly summon, what was it dear?"

"The Mungo Bus."

"Magical ambulance?" Harry queried after a moment.

"Essentially," Hermione nodded. "You send a specific spell into the air over a critically injured person and it summons the bus."

Alan Granger laughed ruefully, "Damn thing lifted our entire house up to get into the back yard and put it back with not a hair out of place."

Hermione pointed at the right side bed stand, "Harry is that…?"

"Yes."

She picked up the vial containing the two slightly bloodstained deformed bullets. Mrs Granger took it from her daughter after a moment and shook her head in amazement. "You had two of these put in you and not two days later you're up and doing school work."

"In that respect the Secrecy of magic is a pity," Harry agreed.

"It's a damn tragedy," retorted Mr Granger.

"Perhaps," Harry admitted. "Unfortunately I can't change this world with the wave of my hand…"

"No, no," Mr Granger raised his hands looking apologetic, "sorry. Hermione tells us of the wonders that magicians can do and knowing that… it's difficult when we see…" He shook his head dismissing his line of thought. "Hermione, we'll be just outside. Thirty minutes enough?"

"That's fine, Dad."

"Mr Potter." Another handshake followed while Mrs Granger only nodded to him and accompanied her husband out the door.

"So how has your summer been – besides worrying about me?"

Hermione sighed, "It all seems so stupid now."

"Don't you dare feel guilty, Hermione, for enjoying yourself while I was in trouble," Harry remonstrated. "There was nothing you could do to stop it. My kidnappers would've found me even if I was in Australia, never mind France."

"Who… were they?"

Harry didn't answer at first, his face looking troubled, "I can only tell you this. They're no ordinary lot. They use magic as competently and freely as they use technology."

"But technology can't work with magic…"

"…at Hogwarts, which probably has so many spells, wards and enchantments within it and without that you couldn't get anything more complicated than a geared quartz wristwatch to work there."

Hermione frowned for a moment and Harry inwardly laughed at practically seeing the gears turning behind those eyes. "I suppose you could get - with proper preparation - to get magic to imitate technology's effects. I mean look at Mr Weasley's car from last year, the Mungo Bus and the Knight's Bus. It's illegal to do that unless Ministry approved."

"I think it's more a case of that they mostly use technology and only use magic where the former is, as yet, incapable."

Hermione nodded in understanding. "I can't think of any group or organization I've read about in the wizarding world that would do this or use magic so little. I mean wizards use magic for nearly _everything_."

"As we've discovered, Hermione, books aren't everything," he teased with a sly grin poking her arm.

She slapped the appendage away and her mouth twitched, "Prat."

"Speaking of prats, where is that other friend of mine? Still exploring tombs in Egypt?"

"Yeah, Mr Weasley came back though when you were kidnapped to help out with the search," she reached behind her and pulled a folded newspaper from her jeans back pocket. Harry unfolded it and had to blink at his own name splashed across the front cover.

**HARRY POTTER FOUND**

**ADMITTED TO ST MUNGOs**

The moving picture showed a rather frazzled wizard in Healer robes practically being mobbed by reporters.

"I'm going to have a bit of a hassle leaving here, aren't I?"

"They're practically camping in the hospital's lobby."

"Just great," Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. "Can't the hospital kick them out?"

"As long as they don't obstruct patients coming and going, it's a public place, Harry."

Harry smiled wryly, "Help me with a plan to get past them?"

"Honestly Harry…"

"Please!"

"Fine."

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It was two days later that Harry was finally discharged from St Mungo's. Escaping the attention of the journalists clustered in the lobby was achieved with his Invisibility Cloak, Hermione and her parents leading the way and opening the doors for him. A few of them had wanted to catch Hermione with a question or two, as she was 'Harry Potter's Friend', but Mr and Mrs Granger firmly refused their daughter to be used as a 'source' for a story. Harry suspected that the elder Grangers knew full well how the media could distort words, all in the name of selling that extra newspaper.

They climbed into the Granger's Mercedes parked a few streets away, and only when they were well into the bustle of traffic did Harry duck into the footwell of the rear passenger seats and remove the cloak. It took nearly twenty minutes for the car to make its way to a street near The Leaky Cauldron that had a parking spot.

Mr Granger engaged the park brake and eyed Harry through the rearview mirror. "Are you certain you don't wish to spend the next two evenings at our house, before you board the Hogwarts Express? It would be no imposition."

"No thank you, Doctor Granger. I need to get some things in the Alley, sort myself out. The… events of this summer has…"

"I understand," he nodded. "I can't imagine how my life would've been affected had I been kidnapped at your age."

Harry nodded and shared a warm hug with Hermione across the seats. "See you on the first."

"Be safe, Harry."

Harry shook Mrs Granger's hand somewhat awkwardly, "Doctor Granger, thanks for cooperating in my escape plan."

"It was a pleasure, dear."

He emerged from the car and waved it off as it pulled away to merge back into the traffic flow. Soon he walked into the pub that acted as the portal the wizarding enclave of London and weaved through the various tables, heading for the bar. The pub denizens merely gave him a cursory glance before turning back to their drinks or meals. The disinterest was achieved due to the fact that he wore a Man U Cap donated by Hermione – covering his infamous scar and messy mop of black hair – but also due to his gait and the _way_ he walked, and as the cherry on top, a bit of magic that prevented eyes from focusing intently on his person.

Harry knocked on the bar and the near toothless, hunchbacked Tom the Innkeeper was startled as he suddenly perceived that someone new was standing there.

"Blimey, didn't see ya the'a, sorry sir."

"Room for two nights, Tom, with some _discretion_," Harry raised his head and met the Innkeeper's eyes, which widened in recognition.

"Right, Mister… yes," Tom reached under the counter and pulled out a huge ledger book already open and consulted it. "Room Seven is available, sign yerself in, Mister."

Harry took the proffered self-inking quill and signed in the appropriate spot. "Thank you, Tom."

The Innkeep leaned closer, and flicked his wand below the bar subtly to the side, sending off a silent spell, "Good to see you again, Mr Potter. Welcome back." Only Harry's ears heard these words, everyone else close enough would hear Tom commenting that the room was the best in the Inn.

"Thank you for that, Tom," Harry answered with a knowing smile, and reinforced the sentiment by leaving a Galleon behind on the bar table, which was immediately swept out of view by a deft hand from the Innkeeper.

Harry walked up the stairs, which would have given any architect a headache with the bizarre geometry, which was only possible with space expansion and warping spells. Thankfully, the directions on the walls kept anyone from getting lost. _'Now why couldn't Hogwarts have had that?_' he thought with amusement. Room Seven opened at the touch of his hand on the door knob and the room beyond was indeed impressive; a large carpeted sitting room with wooden paneled walls and two doors, which led to similarly large bathroom and bedroom respectively. There were no portraits and the mirror was thankfully normal, so he wouldn't have to worry about his doings within the suite being 'reported' elsewhere.

Nodding with satisfaction he locked the main door, pulled out his wand, and tapped it on the tiny trunk he produced from his pocket. With it expanded to normal size he now began waving the holly wand about, walking about the rooms as he cast. He was rather irritated that he had to occasionally repeat a spell – as this was in essence the first time he cast them with his real body with this specific wand. The fluidity, reflexes, dexterity and strength of his Ancestor was not present in his thirteen year old body and would have to be developed from scratch again.

It was decidedly irritating for Harry, as he remembered doing every bit of that training – and now his body was essentially an unfit, clean slate again.

Finishing the last spell of the fifteen obscure security enchantments and wards his Ancestor had sworn by, left him feeling rather lightheaded. "Back in the day, I – sorry, she could do this in her sleep," Harry groused. He put the wand away and got to work on what would no doubt be a very long road back to the fitness he/she had enjoyed.

"Insanity," he muttered in irritation as he began a push up, "stupid Animus screwed up all my tenses and pronouns."

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A rather travel worn Ron Weasley that sat down at one of the tables in Florean Fortesque's Ice Cream Parlor, his shopping thudded beside his chair at the table. The bags might be feather-light but shopping with his mother was an absolute nightmare. The instant they were done he had scooted off to the Parlor where Hermione had said she would be waiting, and sure enough there she was. She had been idly poking her empty sundae cup with a spoon and ranging her eyes up and down the Alley. She was looking very tan and in moment of idleness Ron wished his red haired type skin could do the same and not just burn and acquire yet more freckles for his trouble.

"Hello Ron," she said somewhat absently.

"Hermione," he greeted a bit awkwardly. "Uh… good to see you. Seen Harry yet?"

"Not yet," she drummed her fingers idly on the table. "He contacted me last night and said he'd be here about now."

Ron squinted at her strangely, "Hermione, you've got that look again."

She blinked and focused properly on her friend, "What look?"

"It's the 'my mind's a million miles away' look, the one just before you run off to the library to verify something," he grinned slightly to show her that he was only semi-serious.

Hermione scoffed in irritation, "Just pondering the puzzle of _who_ kidnapped Harry."

"Oh? What did Harry say? Was it Black after all?"

"No," she shook her head, "not according to what Harry experienced. I've had a devil of a time trying to research it – not having access to Hogwarts Library, yet from what he said I doubt I'm going to find anything there. This group uses muggle weapons and devices; they live in the muggle world, yet can achieve magical feats like shielding Harry from locating spells, Hedwig from finding him and detect him under his Invisibility Cloak and make Portkeys."

Ron frowned and nodded, "That is weird. My dad is about the only wizard I know of that would use muggle things to that extent, like our lost flying Ford Anglia. But even he wouldn't bother with using their weapons."

"I know," Hermione grumbled and rubbed her head in a gesture of frustration. "Everything we know of wizard culture - in Britain or abroad- says that this shouldn't have happened. Wizards are very wary and distrustful of anything but the oldest of muggle technology. Most of them don't even know what electricity is for goodness sake. Yet… Harry didn't put those bullets into himself nor could he make his own Portkey. The evidence…"

"...says that this group makes the best of both worlds."

Ron practically jumped out of his seat in fright as he felt a hand clamp down on his shoulder and the familiarity of the voice registered in his brain. Hermione was also startled and her head whirled to see… Harry standing right next to their table with a bemused grin.

She jumped out of her seat to give him a hug, "Harry! How… "

Ron turned his seat around to regard his best friend, as he answered.

"You were not exactly paying attention, Hermione, and the crowd did the rest."

"Hey mate… it's goo- good to see you."

"Ron," Harry's hand found his and they clasped them. The Boy Who Lived was wearing a set of grey white robes that was hanging open and loose on his short frame, whilst normal muggle clothes were worn underneath. He sat down at the last free chair at the table.

"So what have you been up to, Harry?"

"Oh, this and that, exploring and shopping in Diagon Alley mostly. How about you? How was Egypt?"

"Egypt was… fine. Interesting, couldn't enjoy it much coz of… you know."

"I suppose I should feel good and bad about that," Harry sighed.

Ron quickly latched on another subject, "Look at this," he pulled a long thin box out of a bag and opened it. "Brand-new wand; fourteen inches, willow, containing one unicorn tail-hair, and we've got all our books…" he pointed at a large bag under his chair. "What about those _Monster Books_, eh?"

"Very amusing," Harry nodded his mouth quirked in a suppressed smile. "I was tempted to explain to the manager how to tame those books, but he really looked like he needs the exercise."

"Harry!" Hermione scolded. "You know how? I haven't been able to open mine yet, at least not without it trying to bite off my fingers when I try to read it."

Harry reached his hand into the bag containing Ron's purchases and pulled out the Monster Book. It growled threateningly at being handled. Harry flicked open the catch on the belt without pause and the Book sensing it was free immediately tried to snap at the hands that held it. Harry was quicker and clamped the book closed with his right hand before his left stroked the spine of the book where the leathery tassels that imitated the hairy mane of an animal was. The growling changed to a contented purr that faded away and the book was easily opened to a random page and handed to Hermione.

Ron almost laughed at the expression on her face.

She slapped her own forehead, "I can't believe I didn't think of that. You stroke it!"

Harry chuckled, "Yes, quaint little charm. It's a book that imitates an animal so it would also be receptive to what works on one. I even tried feeding mine ink, and would you believe it actually works, renewed all the letters as if it was freshly printed. Though it left ink droppings everywhere the next day."

"Speaking of animals," Ron pulled his pet rat out of his pocket. "I wanted to get him checked over," placing Scabbers on the table in front of them. "I don't think Egypt agreed with him." Scabbers the rat was looking thinner than usual, and there was a definite droop to his whiskers.

Harry shrugged after giving Scabbers an assessing stare, "Magical creature shop should be able to do it."

They ate a quick ice-cream before paying and heading over to the Magical Menagerie. There the witch at the counter examined Scabbers before handing over a Rat Tonic. The rat in question almost didn't get to drink a drop when an enormous ginger cat managed to escape from its cage and tried to gobble Scabbers up. It didn't help that the damn cat had decided to use Ron's head as a springboard in its attempt, the sharp claws of the cat hadn't managed to cut his scalp but it was painful. Only between the witch's quick wand and Scabber's own instinct for self-preservation, was the situation resolved.

"Naughty Crookshanks!" the witch scolded the hissing and spitting cat, now back in its cage. "No more treats for the rest of the week."

They left and with each of the three dividing Ron's purchases between them headed back to the Leaky Cauldron. Ron found his father sitting in the bar, reading the _Prophet_. He surged to his feet at the sight of Harry.

"Harry, so good to see you safe and sound," Dad gave Harry a sound handshake and a clap on the back."

"Thank you, Mr Weasley. Sorry for the interruption in your holidays…"

"Nonsense Harry," Dad waved it off and took his seat again. "Your kidnappers are at fault not you."

Harry pointed at the front page of the Prophet, where an animated picture of Sirius Black was screaming at them. "He's still eluding the Ministry?"

"Yes," said Dad, looking extremely grave. "They've pulled us all off our regular jobs at the Ministry to try and find him, but no luck so far. Your situation actually caused a bit of a stir, Minister Fudge had us moving back and forth between finding you and Black."

"That couldn't help your efforts," Harry agreed.

"Should've just assigned permanent teams and be done with it," Dad muttered and lowered his voice even further. "Not like Fudge would listen to me…" At that moment Mum entered the bar, laden with shopping and followed by the twins, Fred and George, who were about to start their fifth year at Hogwarts, Ginny, starting her second, and Percy the newly elected Head Boy. Ron groaned inwardly, Percy had been a right insufferable git about his Headboyship all summer and now Harry would get to experience it.

Sure enough when it Percy's turn to greet Harry…

"Harry. Nice to see you in good health." He held out his hand solemnly to Harry as if they had never met before. Harry took it in his stride though, and shook the proffered hand.

"Thanks Percy," Harry face was oddly neutral though Ron was sure there was a small glint of amusement in his eyes at the excessive formality.

"Harry!" said Fred, elbowing Percy out of the way and bowing deeply. "Simply _splendid_ to see you, old chap…"

"Marvellous," said George, pushing Fred aside and seizing Harry's hand in turn, "Absolutely spiffing. Starting early this year in death defying stunts are you?"

"That's enough, now," said Mum.

"Mum!" said Fred, as thought he'd only just spotted her, and seized her hand too. "How really corking to see you…"

"I said, that's enough," she said, depositing her shopping in an empty chair, before seizing Harry in a brief hug. "Poor dear, how are you coping? All that Chamber business of last year and now this in the summer, I swear if those barbarians who took you get within wand rage of me…"

Ron shivered at the forbidding tone coming from his mother.

Harry nodded to her, "I'll definitely keep that in mind, Mrs Weasley. I have a feeling we haven't heard the last of them."

"Send me or Arthur an owl the instant you figure it out or need help," she nodded. "I suppose you haven't heard then yet our exciting news. She pointed at the brand new silver-badge on Percy's chest. "Second Head Boy in the family!" she said swelling with pride.

"And last," muttered Fred under his breath.

"I don't doubt that," said Mum, frowning suddenly. "I notice they haven't made you two Prefects."

"What do we want to be Prefects for?" chorused Fred and George, looking revolted at the very idea. "It'd take the fun out of life."

Ginny giggled.

"You want to set a better example to your sister!" snapped Mum.

"Ginny's got other brothers to set her an example, Mother," said Percy loftily. "I'm going up to change for dinner…"

He disappeared and George heaved a sigh. "We tried to shut him in a pyramid," he told Harry under his breath. "But Mum spotted us."

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Harry shut the door to his room in the Leaky Cauldron and took a deep breath. It had been much more difficult than he had imagined, playing the role of someone who he was no more. Oh, he could afford to display a few of the changes in his personality, it could be written off as an effect of his kidnapping, but… if he had to liken it to anything, it would be like wearing a half-mask. The Assassins had been right in asking him to consider simply disappearing from the both worlds.

Ron and Hermione were so _young_, innocent and ignorant. It was only now that he truly saw what returning would mean. He had a job to do now, a calling, and it was not something that could really be understood, except by another Assassin.

He sat down on his bed and reached into his trunk for a special book he had been given the day before by the Grandmaster. It was disguised as the first book of the Encyclopedia Britannica and inside was the collected knowledge and wisdom of all the Assassins who had come before – it was encoded of course and would be pure nonsense and gibberish to those who were unenlightened in the Brotherhood – the only reason Harry would be able to read it was because of his Ancestor memories.

The primary task given to him was to fully master what was inside. Harry wasn't given a timeframe.

He opened the book to the first page, decoded and read the familiar words with a glance, which resolved themselves into Old English, but in modern English stated:

'_Nothing is true, everything is permitted.'_

'_Stay your blade from the flesh of the innocent.'_

'_Hide in plain sight.'_

'_Never compromise the Brotherhood.'_

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	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The next morning Harry was halfway finished dressing after his self-assigned physical training and a refreshing shower when one of the wards on his door was tripped, followed by an almost timid yet repetitive knocking. He frowned for a moment in thought, 'Now why would Mr Weasley want to speak to me, the sun's barely up.' Harry dispelled his security wards with a simple flick of his wand, "Come in!"

The door opened slowly and Harry hurriedly pulled on his shirt as Mr Weasley entered, his body language was showing a determined reluctance, as if he was about to do something that conflicted him. "Morning, Mr Weasley? What brings you here so early?"

"Morning Harry," he closed the door and shot a form of silencing spell at the door. "I'm just here to tell you something… Molly advised against it but it's critical that you hear this… she seems to think you're made of glass, honestly, but seeing how well you've handled the kidnapping and the debt my family owes you…"

Harry raised an eyebrow, feeling intrigued, "Oh?"

Mr Weasley took a breath and plunged in, "Sirius Black escaped Azkaban Prison, that's public knowledge. He was a Death Eater - oh, that's what You-Know-Who's most loyal and powerful servants called themselves – but that was not always the case. He was at first fighting against You-Know-Who…"

"He was a traitor?"

"Yes," nodded Mr Weasley. "But what's not public knowledge Harry is…_why_ he escaped. Minister for Magic Fudge went out to Azkaban the night Black escaped. The guards told Fudge that Black's been talking in his sleep for a while now. Always the same words: "He's at Hogwarts…he's at Hogwarts." Do you understand? He's after you, Harry."

"Bollocks," Harry shook his head and rubbed his face wearily, though inwardly he was rather blasé. A lot of somebody's had wanted to kill his Ancestor, for a variety of reasons, including wizards and witches with formidable power. She had survived them all. "Though what makes you think he referred to me? There are after all a lot of boys at Hogwarts, including a number of male staff members."

"No one's escaped from Azkaban before and revenge against the one who defeated his master is the only motivation that makes sense."

Harry could see he wasn't going to convince Mr Weasley otherwise so moved on, "It's clear that he's on his way to Hogwarts… what is being done by the Ministry?"

"They're stationing the Azkaban guards around the school perimeter, if Black returns he'll first have to go through them. Beyond that Headmaster Dumbledore is seeing to strengthening the wards of the school and tighter patrols of the school by the staff members. In addition, Harry I want to ask that you limit your own movements, always stay in sight of your friends or others, should Black be able penetrate the defenses."

"And I was so looking forward to seeing Hogsmeade," Harry sighed. "Not that I had the permission slip signed in the circumstances anyway…"

Mr Weasley smiled and clapped his hand companionably on Harry's shoulder, "That's a good lad. With luck, we'll have Black recaptured soon enough and you can get on with your school year as it should've been."

"Looking forward to it," Harry nodded with a smile.

"One last thing, recall I said last night at dinner of the Ministry Cars we're taking to King's Cross station… now I want you to stay at my side at all times so I can disapparate with you should anything happen."

"Sure."

"Good, now I better get going before Molly get's suspicious, I told her I was getting her some breakfast in bed…"

"Better not make yourself a liar, Mr Weasley," Harry advised seriously.

The man laughed with a nod and left quickly. Harry felt very odd at that moment – it was a familiar feeling and it took him a few tries to indentify it as coming from his Ancestor memories – as much as she had been someone who had been reckoned as the best healer of her time, she also possessed an equal measure of being able to do the opposite and she had come to find a visceral thrill in her assignments with both word, hand and blade. She had been recruited originally by the proto-Assassins or Nephili – as they had called themselves back then – for her abilities as a Healer and her prominent position at the time, and that as a Healer she would always be the one to go to when someone in the Royal Court got sick and for her family connections. Harry was now feeling something similar, Sirius Black would be _his_ first true challenge that had not occurred in the Animus.

But Harry could not assassinate Black, not until the truth was judged in his own heart and mind. He could not assassinate someone out of hearsay. He also couldn't trust the wizard justice system either, since Minister Fudge had proven last year that he could throw Hagrid in Azkaban just 'to be seen doing something', not to mention Hagrid's expulsion and framing by Tom Riddle in the forties... it was clear that Hagrid was innocent, yet still he was scapegoated.

If that was not enough – he had to train and be on the lookout for possible Templar influence or agents in the wizard world. The Il'Mentore had indicated that it was clear they were there, but Assassin penetration into the parallel society was intermittent at best and Harry was essentially on his own.

"Should be an interesting year."

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In the chaos of leaving and getting ready Harry had no chance to speak to Ron or Hermione about Mr Weasley's revelations of Sirius Black. They were too busy heaving all their trunks down the Leaky Cauldron's narrow staircase and piling them up near the door, with Hedwig, Jupiter (Hermione's rather handsome new owl) and Hermes, Percy's screech owl, perched on top of their cages.

Mr Weasley, who had been outside waiting for the Ministry cars, stuck his head inside.

"They're here," he said. "Harry, come on."

Mr Weasley marched Harry across the short stretch of pavement towards the first of two old-fashioned dark green cars, each of which was driven by a furtive-looking wizard, wearing a suit of emerald velvet. It was rather vexing having to feign this level of helplessness for Harry, but his eyes were sharply peeled on the rooftops and the street using the vision inherent to his ancestors that the Assassin's called Eagle Vision. There were no hostile auras in sight, or at least none that were intent on him. So the Templars were apparently not content with an attack in public – there were no snipers in sight.

"In you get, Harry," said Mr Weasley, glancing up and down the crowded street. Harry got into the back of the car, and was shortly joined by Ginny, Hermione, Ron and, to Ron disgust, Percy.

The journey to King's Cross was thankfully uneventful. The Ministry of Magic cars seemed almost ordinary; through he noticed they could slide through gaps like no ordinary car could – compressing and warping their forms to slip through. They reached King's Cross with twenty minutes to spare; the Ministry drivers found trolleys, unloaded their trunks, touched their hats to Mr Weasley and drove away, using a short apparition to jump to the head of an unmoving queue for the traffic lights. Mr Weasley kept close to Harry's elbow all the way into the station.

"Right then," he said, glancing around them. "Let's do this in pairs, as there are so many of us. I'll go through first with Harry."

Mr Weasley strolled towards the barrier between platforms nine and ten, pushing Harry's trolley and apparently very interested in the InterCity 125 that had just arrived at platform nine. With a meaningful look, he leant casually against the barrier. Harry imitated him.

Next moment, they had fallen sideways through the solid metal onto platform nine and three-quarters and looked up to see the Hogwarts Express, the scarlet steam engine looking as magnificent as ever, puffing smoke over a platform packed with witches and wizards seeing their children onto the train.

Percy and Ginny suddenly appeared behind them. They were panting, and had apparently taken the barrier at a run.

"Ah, there's Penelope!" said Percy, smoothing his hair and going pink. Harry's mouth twitched in amusement at the new Headboy's antics. He now had a rather unique perspective – which he was pretty sure every man in the world would kill for – he now literally knew how women thought, having lived the life of one from _her_ perspective. Sure, she had lived in the Sixth century of the Common Era, but female brains and thinking had not changed, even if the culture had and courtship norms were decidedly different. Percy was however, decidedly going over the top, and Ginny giggled at the sight of him striding over to a girl with long, curly hair, walking with his chest thrown out so that she couldn't miss his shiny badge.

Once the remaining Weasley's and Hermione had joined them, Mr Weasley and Harry led the way to the end of the train, past packed compartments, to a carriage that looked quite empty. They loaded the trunks onto it, stowed Hedwig and Jupiter in the luggage rack, then went back outside to say goodbye to Mr and Mrs Weasley. Harry shook hands with former and was enveloped in a generous hug from the latter.

"Do take care, won't you Harry" she said as she straightened up, her eyes oddly bright. Then she opened her enormous handbag and said, "I've made you all sandwiches. Here you are, Ron…no, they're not corned beef…Fred? Where's Fred? Here you are, dear…"

A whistle from the conductor sounded at that point and everyone hurried back onto the train. It started to move and children were leaning out of the windows and waving at their relatives and family. It picked up speed and was soon turning the corner and the platform was hidden from view.

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny set off down the corridor, looking for an empty compartment, but all were full except for the one at the very end of the train. This only had one occupant, a man sitting fast asleep next to the window. They stopped on the threshold. The stranger was wearing an extremely shabby set of wizard's robes which had been darned in several places. He looked ill and exhausted. Though he seemed quite young, his light-brown hair was flecked with grey.

This was what his friends were seeing, but not Harry. Firstly, he felt an extreme sense of familiarity, then there was the near ghostly outline of figures he was seeing seated around the compartment. There were four of them, one nearly superimposed over the stranger that looked like a younger version of him, the second was what Harry thought was a copy of himself – until he noted it's age, it was Harry's dad! – he looked sixteen about… then there was another unknown much smaller boy, with dark blonde hair who was laughing at the others, whilst another taller, dark haired boy danced and goofed around the compartment…

"Harry? Are you okay?"

Hermione's voice snapped him out of it and the ghostly figures vanished. This was the third time Harry had experienced what the Assassins referred to as the 'Bleeding Effect'. It was a side-effect of Animus use that gave a user access to genetic memory without an Animus – but it was unreliable, chaotic and could be triggered with the right stimuli. Harry's own Bleeding Effects were more pronounced than anyone to date, but it wasn't surprising – given Harry's genetic status as a high degree Nephili or wizard – the only one to have been used in an Animus thus far.

"Who do you reckon he is?" hissed Ron, as they sat down and slid the door shut, taking the seats furthest away from the window.

"Professor R. Lupin," Harry replied absently, rubbing his head wearily. He managed to stop himself saying 'Remus'.

"How do you know that?"

"It's on his case," replied Hermione in an obvious tone, pointing at the luggage rack over the man's head, where there was a small, battered case held together with a large quantity of neatly knotted string. The name 'Professor R.J. Lupin' was stamped across one corner in peeling letters.

"Wonder what he teaches?" said Ron.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," Harry whispered. "There's only one vacancy among the staff."

"Well, I hope he's up to it," said Ron doubtfully. "He looks like one good hex could finish him off, doesn't he?"

"Appearances can be deceptive, Ron. In any event, I wanted to tell you two… well, three, I suppose," he nodded to Ginny. "To keep an extra eye out this year for anything suspicious, since the Ministry believes that Sirius Black is sure to come to Hogwarts…"

"What?" Hermione and Ginny squeaked in chorus.

"Yes, and they also believe that he's doing so to come after… me."

"You're kidding?" Ron gasped.

"No, your father was kind enough to inform me of this," Harry explained. "I question the logic though. Their idea as to his target is actually a theory at best; Black was heard to mutter 'He's at Hogwarts,' in his sleep. Their idea of putting themselves in Black's shoes has led them to conclude that since I was 'responsible' for Riddle's defeat, that he escaped Azkaban to revenge himself upon me."

Harry regarded his friends and saw that Hermione was looking at him rather weirdly – Ron just gaped and Ginny was shielding her mouth in either horror or astonishment.

Hermione shook her head, "Oh, Harry…you'll have to be really, really careful. Don't go looking for trouble…"

Harry laughed, "I will not have to go look for it, Hermione."

"But they'll catch him, won't they?" said Hermione earnestly. "I mean, they've even got all the normal authorities looking out for him, too… if they know he's coming to Hogwarts…"

"No one knows how he's got out of Azkaban," said Ron uncomfortably. "No one's ever done it before. And he was a top-security prisoner, too. So if he can get out of a place like that, whats to say he can't get in Hogwarts?"

"There is a difference between breaking out and in of a place," Harry explained. "But I agree that anyone who can do the former has a good chance of the latter as well, but Hogwarts is a much older place than Azkaban with stronger wards. Add to the fact that the Azkaban guards are coming as well to guard the perimeter…"

The only way in then would be with secret passages, which Hogwarts was riddled with, and there would definitely be ones that allowed the castle occupants escape beyond the ward line. Those would be how an Assassin would get in or infiltrate a group that would be accepted into the castle, like the students on the train. Harry decided to do a walkabout the train with his eyes in Eagle vision as soon as their conversation topics had dried up.

This took quite a while; it turned out, as Ron was regaling Hermione and Harry with the thing that all Third Year Hogwarts students looked forward to. The permission and ability to on certain Saturdays to go to Hogsmeade – the only exclusive all magical settlement in Britain – he was relating all he had learned from his twin brothers.

"I can't wait to get inside Honeydukes."

"What's that?" said Hermione.

"It's a sweetshop," said Ron, a dreamy look coming over his face, "where they've got everything…Pepper Imps…they make your mouth smoke…and great fat Chocoballs full of strawberry mousse and clotted cream, and really excellent sugar quills…

"But Hogsmeade's a very interesting place, isn't it?" pressed Hermione eagerly. "In _Sites of Historical Sorcery_ it says the inn was the headquarters for the 1612 goblin rebellion, and the Shrieking Shack's supposed to be the most severely haunted building in Britian…"

"…and massive sherbet balls that make you levitate a few inches off the ground while you're sucking them," said Ron, who was plainly not listening to a word Hermione was saying.

Hermione looked around at Harry.

"Won't it be nice to get out of school for a bit and explore Hogsmeade?"

"What makes you think that I'd be going there? I didn't have the permission slip signed because of my kidnapping, and even if I had it the teachers would most likely stop me anyway because of this whole Black affair."

Ron looked horrified, "No way."

"It doesn't matter," Harry waved off his friend's concern. "I'm sure I can find another productive use of my time." He could already imagine himself dabbling in free-running and climbing practice on the battlements and exploring the castle to find his Hideout and be assured of privacy – as no eagle could hunt forever and would need to return to the nest for rest, after all. He even had an idea on how to get a lead to find such a place in Hogwarts.

At one 'o clock the plump witch with the food trolley arrived at the compartment door.

"D'you think we should wake him up?" asked Ron awkwardly, nodding towards Professor Lupin.

"No," Harry said. "If he wanted, he'd have been awake."

"Don't worry, dear," said the witch, as she handed Harry a large stack of Cauldron Cakes. "If he's hungry when he wakes, I'll be up front with the driver."

Harry took the opportunity to leave, pocketing a Cake and his eyes already in Eagle Vision. The world turned into a grey-black version of itself and sounds muted somewhat but was intelligible. Harry inwardly smiled at seeing the pleasant friendly auras of Hermione, Ginny and Ron. It had always been a pleasure for his Ancestor to use the Vision when healing children – their innocence were like bright beacons of light. Though oddly there was bright bulb of red and yellow aura emitting from Ron's shirt pocket – where Scabbers the Rat was nestling in. How a rat could register on Eagle Vision at all was something he would have to give some thought to… a magically bred rat perhaps?

"Whee r you goin'?" Ron mumbled with his mouth chewing on a sandwich.

"Stretch my legs a bit."

Harry emerged into the narrow corridor and closed the compartment glass door behind him. He adopted a casual lope as best he could in the rocking train, scanning from left to right and glancing into each compartment – looking for anyone with sincerely hostile intent. Even if Sirius Black was disguised as a student using magical means, he would stand out like a sore thumb. He ran into the witch as she moved back up the train, just as Harry had planned, giving him a legitimate excuse to slow his progress down and make a more thorough search.

He was briefly stopped when he reached the Prefects compartment, having to wait until a Prefect emerged from the door - which was charmed to only allow a Prefect to operate the handle - before projecting a Circle of Inattention around his body and entering.

The compartment was decidedly different; it almost looked like it could be the dining car of a normal train, except with a bit more opulence thrown in – nice carpets and dark wood paneling, with one end clearly set up where meetings could be held. It also seemed as if the Prefects got tea and coffee on their journey, which was being served by the trolley witch. Half of the twenty four Prefects that Hogwarts had were here and Percy was talking seriously with Penelope over a bunch of scrolls and parchments.

There was no sign of anyone in a killing or evil mood it seemed on the Hogwarts Express.

Harry exited with another Prefect but kept his Circle of Inattention up. It was just as well, because he ran into Draco Malfoy, - Harry's school rival of two years going on three - and his two bookends Crabbe and Goyle halfway down the train. They were filling up the corridor and their attention turned into a compartment where little Malfoy was spewing his pathetic vitriol to their occupants.

"So Weaslette, did it feel nice to finally go on a holiday? I hope you enjoyed it… it's not as if you could afford to go on another in the future," he laughed sneeringly.

Ginny had apparently moved up the train, she was in there with Neville Longbottom and another girl with long dirty blonde hair and protuberant blue eyes set in a rather pleasant airy face, which gave her a permanently surprised look. What surprised Harry on the other hand was the fact that Ginny was facing off against Malfoy with arms held loose at her sides and she looked decidedly unimpressed.

"Really Malfoy?" she laughed. "That the best you can do? So let me see, you're trying to mock the fact that I'm poor. That's nice… tell me… how is your Daddy faring in his little social circles since he was fired from the Board of Governors." Draco face turned an interesting color of red and he lost his smiling sneer very quickly. "I thought so… Hogwarts is no longer your little playground Malfoy where you can do as you please… no more running to Daddy for every little thing. So be a good little boy and piss off!"

Harry couldn't keep the wide grin off his face – it seemed as if he was not the only one who had grown up a bit sooner than normal. Malfoy scowled and stepped forward, Crabbe and Goyle cracked their knuckles threateningly. Harry considered the best ways to knock both big bullies out before they even knew what hit them.

"So you're going to hit a girl are you? Unprovoked, within sight of two witnesses," Ginny sneered in disgust.

"Let's be accurate, Ginny, make it three witnesses," Harry spoke up suddenly. His speaking had broken the Circle of Inattention and the three Slytherin's and the occupant compartments snapped their heads in his direction. He kept his voice deceptively pleasant and friendly, but his eyes were narrowed and he was projecting a clear 'Don't'mess with me' aura. "So Malfoy, feeling like finishing the job your father started?"

"Wh-what are you blabbering about Pot-ter?" Malfoy tried his usual sneer but it faltered.

"Didn't dearest Daddy tell you? He was the one who caused Ginny to be possessed last year, something that he knew would eventually kill her… so I suggest you either go away or face the likely prospect of having to have your bollocks pulled back out after Ginny kicks them in."

The mere mention was enough to have all three Slytherin boys moving their hands protectively to the region in question, while Neville just winced in manly sympathy. Ginny just grinned fiercely at Malfoy as if to confirm that that had been her intention…

Malfoy sneered one last time at them all and left.

"My goodness he has some sense after all," Harry declared with a laugh and entered the compartment to stand in front of the blonde girl. "Harry Potter, I don't believe we've met…"

"No we haven't," the girl said airily. She gave off an aura of eccentricity and she had oddly stuck her wand behind her left ear for safekeeping, and wore a necklace of Butterbeer corks. Her clothes were also similarly weird, eye-watering lurid yellow pants with a pink blouse.

"This is Luna Lovegood, Harry, she's in my year but in Ravenclaw," Ginny said with a sigh. Harry sat down opposite Luna and Neville. "Just how did you know I was planning to kick him…"

"I saw your stance and balance," Harry shrugged, "and as much as I'd like to see someone kick Malfoy, you'd just get into unnecessary trouble with Snape. Save your ire for Malfoy Senior." At this point he noticed that he was the subject of Luna Lovegood's fixed gaze, but ignored commenting on it and just stared out of the window at the passing scenery. "How were your holidays, Neville?"

"Good, uhm, restful I suppose," the chronically clumsy teenager mumbled. "Just stayed at home."

"I hope you all don't mind if I take a bit of nap here," Harry settled back into his seat and closed his eyes. "Ron's presence really isn't good for it." There was a double benefit that he could also use the opportunity to sort out his own mind after experiencing the Bleeding Effect.

By mid-afternoon, it had started to rain, blurring the rolling hills outside the window, and it had woke him up briefly from his travels within in his own mind. He ate another cake and watched as Luna was reading a magazine called _The Quibbler_. Neville was also asleep and Ginny was reading a novel of sorts.

What first caught his eye was that Luna was… "Luna is there a reason you're reading that magazine upside down?"

"Yes, there's a reason."

"What's the reason?"

"Codes."

"The magazine puts codes in it?" Harry felt his interest piqued. The Assassin's use of codes and riddles both simple and complex to convey information, orders and intelligence was vital today just as it had been back in the day. Of course, it had been much easier in the past, when the Brotherhood could just use primitive invisible inks that would show up to users of Eagle vision. It was something that all Assassin's had to constantly study – though the computer seemed to be well on its way to replacing most of the old methods. He idly gazed at the magazine in question with the aforementioned vision and was not surprised to see it slightly glisten in gold with the power of its basic enchantments. It seemed though there was extra 'invisible' script hidden in between the lines and it was written upside down relative to the normally visible part.

Luna had folded the magazine so he could see the inner section partly, and the hidden script seemed to be … jokes.

He laughed but was inwardly even more intrigued. He hadn't doubted that other wizards had the capability of 'Eagle Vision' or to see in other light forms that was beyond normal vision, but it was surprising to meet a Hogwarts student that also had the gift to use it.

The rain thickened as the train sped yet further north; the windows were now a solid shimmering grey, which gradually darkened until lanterns flickered to life all along the corridors and over the luggage racks.

Harry was now to both Neville and Ginny's surprise seated next to Luna and reading the Quibbler upside down, occasionally laughing at what was written. "Your father is rather oddly brilliant," he commented.

Before Luna could respond the train started to slow down.

"We're nearly there," Neville brightened.

"No," Harry frowned in puzzlement, "there should still be another hour or so to go."

"So why're we stopping?"

The train was getting slower and slower. As the noise of the pistons fell away, the wind and rain sounded louder than ever against the windows. I got up to look into the corridor. All along the carriage, heads were sticking curiously out of their compartments. The train came to a stop with a jolt and distant thuds and bangs reported that luggage had fallen out of the racks. Then, without warning, all the lamps went out and they were plunged into total darkness.

Darkness was no impediment to Harry as it was the Assassin's natural place to be, he threaded his way back to his seat and scanned outside.

"What's going on?" said Ginny.

"Dunno…" Neville mumbled, a current of fear underlying his voice.

"Do you think we've broken down?"

"No," Harry shook his head, squinting his eyes outside, "the driver stopped us for some reason… ah, I see."

He stood and pulled out his wand to face the compartment door, only Luna would be able to see in the pitch dark what he was about to have to do, at least until he has to start casting. "Everyone, stay seated and don't move," he said in as deadly serious tone as he could muster. His Ancestor could've done it so much better. "Try and think of something that will make you feel as miserable and unhappy as possible."

"What?" Ginny and Neville chorused in confusion.

"Just do it."

Harry could give no more thought to them as time had run out. The door slid slowly open. There was a cloaked figure that towered to the ceiling. Its face was completely hidden beneath its hood. There was a hand protruding from the cloak and it was glistening, greyish, slimy-looking and scabbed, like something dead had decayed in water… this was how most wizards saw what had arrived, to the unenlightened.

"Leave, Anivore," Harry declared, keeping his mind in the necessary state to both defend inwardly and outwardly was a strain. "Or else…"

The Anivore, drew a long slow rattling breath, as though it was trying to suck something more than air from its surroundings. An intense cold swept over them all. Ginny gasped and looked like she wanted to faint, Neville started to shiver, he then shut his eyes and shook his head side to side as if constantly trying to deny something. Luna just hugged her knees to her chest and rocked back and forth.

Harry on the other hand was initially startled at the onslaught and what the Anivore was causing to bubble to the surface of his mind. For a brief moment he felt he was back in the Animus and saw…

He pushed it away and focused, twirling his wand in the necessary pattern. It began to light up with an ethereal white glow of light that grew ever brighter with contained Power. The number of them on the train limited his options and he was forced to only repel them. He brandished the wand forward and let go. A shockwave of ethereal white exploded outward.

The Anivore was bodily picked up and crashed through the window, and the other eleven of them met similar fates as the force radiated outward to encompass the entire train. The others had had more time to recognize the threat and began to hurriedly retreat from the energies that were the antithesis to their existence.

Harry was breathing heavily from the channeling of so much power and had to take a few moments to settle himself before lowering his wand. 'Damn Harry, grow a bit more before doing that again,' he thought wryly. He had had no choice though; the sheer presence of that many Anivore's on a train full of school children had forced his hand. What was going on though? How could this have happened? Just why hadn't the Ministry stamped them out?

The lights came back on and Harry slipped his wand back into the elastics up his sleeve. Ginny and Neville looked at him with dinnerplate sized eyes, and Luna was again staring fixedly at Harry again.

Harry smiled at them sheepishly and shrugged in a 'What else could I have done?' manner, as the train jerked forward into motion again.

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Harry was of course badgered straight for the next ten minutes by Ginny leading the inquisition on what the Anivore was, what spell he used to repel it and so on.

"They're things that are born from the darkest pits of misery, despair and death, you can never be happy in their presence and they steal it from you, and if you let them they will even steal the very essence that makes you, you," Harry explained carefully. He couldn't tell her or anyone really outright what they truly were; it was something that had to be discovered for oneself. "The spell I used was the Patroni, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't bandy it about that I can do that."

His explanation was interrupted when the door opened abruptly again and Professor Lupin was framed in it. "Hello, everyone all right in here?"

"Yes," Harry nodded.

"Good the… the Dementors are not pursuing and I recommend that if you have chocolate you eat it now to stave off the side effects of their presence." Harry didn't miss how Lupin had paused in speech at the sight of him.

The Professor nodded and moved on to the next compartment. Harry took his own leave and returned to Ron and Hermione, the latter of who was really worried.

"Honestly Harry…"

"I was there, I was comfortable, let's leave it at that shall we?" he said with a touch of exasperation. They didn't talk much during the remainder of the journey and Professor Lupin did not return, probably staying up front with the driver. When the train stopped at Hogsmeade station, there was a great scramble to get out. It was freezing on the tiny platform; rain was driving down in icy sheets.

"Firs'-years this way!" called a familiar voice. Harry turned and saw the gigantic outline of Hagrid at the other end of the platform, beckoning the terrified-looking new students forward for their traditional journey across the lake.

"All righ' you lo'?" yelled Hagrid over the heads of the crowd. They waved at him, but had no chance to speak to him because of the mass of people around us was shunting us away along the platform. They followed the rest of the school out onto a rough mud track, where at least a hundred Thestral drawn stagecoaches awaited the remaining students. Harry contemplated the skeletal winged horses with black skin stretched across bone grotesquely for a brief moment and wryly reflected that it seemed his soul had been indeed been influenced by his time in the Animus, if he could see them. He had seen death and dealt death in order to synchronize to the memories of his Ancestor – at first he had refused – causing constant desyncs – but Abstergo and Doctor Vidic wasn't happy with that and so motivated Harry to cooperate by bringing in a little girl… Harry had had no choice but to cooperate after that.

They climbed inside a stagecoach and shut the door, the coach set off, bumping and swaying in procession. As the carriage trundled towards a pair of magnificent wrought iron gates, flanked with stone columns topped with winged boars, Harry saw two more towering, hooded Anivores or Dementors as they seemed to be called in this era, standing _guard_ on either side.

"What on Earth are they doing here?" he gasped and his eyes ranged up to see that… Dementors were floating in the air seemingly completely surrounding Hogwarts. His mind leaped to the answer. "_They're_ the Azkaban guards."

"Well yeah," nodded Ron, seemingly confused by Harry's reaction. "My dad had to go out there once, came back all pale and looking sick."

Harry wondered if it was an echo of his Ancestor that was causing his reaction to this state of affairs. _'The Ministry must be out of its bloody mind!'_ he thought. The carriage picked up speed beyond the gates, on the long, sloping drive up to the castle; Hermione was leaning out of the other tiny window, watching the many turrets and towers draw nearer. The carriage swayed to a halt, and the three friends emerged joined the crowd swarming up the steps trying to escape the rain, through the giant oak front doors, and into the cavernous Entrance Hall, which was lit with flaming torches and housed a magnificent marble staircase which led to the upper floors.

The door into the Great Hall stood open at the right; I followed the crowds towards it, but had barely glimpsed the enchanted ceiling, which was black and cloudy tonight, when a voice called, "Miss Granger!"

Professor McGonagall, Transfiguration teacher, Head of Gryffindor house, was calling over the heads of the crowd. She was a stern looking witch who wore her hair in a tight bun; her sharp eyes were framed with square spectacles. They fought their way over to her.

"There's no need to look so worried Miss Granger…I just want a word in my office," she told them. "Move along there, Potter and Weasley. What I have to say is for Miss Granger only."

"I'll see you later," Hermione encouraged shooing Harry and Ron away.

Harry simply nodded and fell back in the throng on the way into the Great Hall. It was a sea of pointed black hats; each of the long house tables was lined with students, their faces glimmering by the light of thousands of candles, which were floating over the tables in mid-air. Harry sat down at the Gryffindor table and his stomach told him that it dearly looking forward to the opening feast. The din in the Hall quieted immediately when the teachers filed in from the side chambers and took their seats, Professor Lupin sitting next to Hagrid.

The doors opened and the new first years entered and nervously tottered forward to face the teacher's while Professor Flitwick, a tiny little wizard with a shock of white hair, was carrying an ancient hat and a three-legged stool forward with a scroll of name in lieu of Professor McGonagall this year.

The Sorting Hat sang its usual song and Harry couldn't help but contemplate this form of education and the tradition of the sorting with reference to his Ancestor. In her time, a wizard or witch were always apprenticed and went through numerous degrees of rank before they had the right to call themselves a 'wizard' and this included experience in the real world without the guiding or helping presence of the Master as a Journeyman or woman. The Sorting itself was really totally unnecessary – creating division where there was none. From an Assassin point of view creating division meant creating conflict where none was necessary, the vagaries and uniqueness of humanity already ensured that conflict would occur, this was just channeling it in a way and institutionalizing it.

He was jerked out of his thoughts by the time the Sorting ended and Hermione was seated in the spot that Ron had saved her and looking at him with concern.

"You all right Harry? You look a million miles away."

"Fine, just thinking," he answered absently.

The Headmaster stood up to speak, and interrupted any further attempt at conversation.

Professor Dumbledore, though very old, always gave an impression of great energy. He had several feet of long silver hair and beard, half-moon spectacles and an extremely crooked nose. He was often described as the greatest wizard of the age. His Ancestor would've not been impressed at how the Headmaster made himself to look like _Merlin_, and Harry had yet to see Dumbledore pulling off anything but the most minor utilizations of Power, so he couldn't evaluate the Headmaster from the perspective of the Sixth Century Magicians. The fact that he didn't show off and boast was a point in favor, though it was clear from the events of Harry's first and second years that he fancied himself a manipulator – though it was painfully easy to manipulate a bunch of adolescents, his handling of the Chamber situation last year against Malfoy Senior… would've been a bit too hands off if his Ancestor had been in Dumbledore's shoes.

"Welcome!" said Dumbledore, the candlelight shimmering on his beard. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to get it out of the way before you become befuddled by our excellent feast…" Dumbledore cleared his throat and continued. "As you will all be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to some of the Dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business."

It was madness! In his Ancestor's day any 'Dementor' encountered by a Nephili with enough power was banished permanently. Yet here was the government of the day, cheerfully utilizing a bloody _horde_ of the things to keep prisoners trapped within their own minds… and chase an escaped one down. It was also clear though that Dumbledore was not happy about the situation from his tone of voice and the expression on his face.

"They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds," continued Dumbledore, "and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave school without permission. Dementors are not fooled by tricks or disguises…or even Invisibility Cloaks," he added blandly. "It is not in the nature of a Dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the Prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to make sure that no student runs afoul of the Dementors."

Percy, who was sitting a few seats along from me, puffed out his chest again and stared around impressively. Dumbledore paused again; he looked very seriously around the Hall, and nobody moved or made a sound. "On a happier note," he continued, "I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year, firstly, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defense against the Dark Arts teacher." There was some scattered, rather unenthusiastic, applause.

"Look at Snape!" hissed Ron in Harry's ear.

Professor Snape, the Potions master, was staring along the staff table at Professor Lupin. Harry was rather startled at the expression twisting his thin, sallow face. It was beyond anger: it was loathing. "As to our second new appointment," continued Dumbledore, as the lukewarm applause for Professor Lupin died away, "well, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs. However, I am delighted to say that his place will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on this teaching job in addition to his gamekeeping duties."

Ron, Hermione and Harry stared at each other rather stunned. Then they joined in with the applause, which was tumultuous at the Gryffindor table in particular. He leant forward to see Hagrid, who was ruby red in the face and staring down at his enormous hands, his wide grin hidden in the tangle of his black beard.

"We should've known!" roared Ron, pounding the table. "Who else would have set us a biting book?"

"Well, I think that's everything of importance," said Dumbledore as the clapping died down. "Let the feast begin!"

The golden plates and goblets before us filled suddenly with food and drink. Harry was suddenly ravenous, and helped himself to everything he could reach and began to eat. It was a delicious feast; the Hall echoed with talk, laughter and the clatter of knives and forks. At long last, when the last morsels of pumpkin tart had melted from the golden platters, Dumbledore gave the word that it was time to go to bed.

They joined the Gryffindors streaming up the marble staircase and, very tired now, along more corridors, up more and more stairs, to the hidden entrance to Gryffindor Tower. A large portrait of a fat lady in a pink dress asked them, "Password?"

"Coming through, coming through," called Percy from behind the crowd. "The new password's _Fortuna Major_!"

Through the portrait hole and across the common room, the girls and boys divided towards their separate staircases. Harry climbed the spiral staircase with Ron, Neville, Dean and Seamus with no thought in his head except how glad he was to be back. They reached the familiar, circular dormitory with its five four-poster beds and looking around; he felt he was home at last.

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	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

**Chun Castle, Penzance**

**Cornwall, British Isles**

**565 AD**

It was a very well appointed room, as befitting the daughter of a Duke, with animal skin rugs on the stone floor, intricate patterned wool draped along the walls, and a narrow arched window let in the early morning sun. Staring out at the narrow view of the Celtic Sea with angry tears glinting on her cheeks was a thirteen year old girl, dressed in a fairly slender white shift with long, narrow sleeves. She was well on her way to full womanhood and dark slightly unkempt hair that tumbled down to the small of her back. Her hands were bunched into fists that leaned on either side of the window.

"Why aren't you dressed yet, dear?"

The girl's shoulders tensed at hearing the voice but dutifully turned around to face her mother. She was dressed as a lady of her station demanded; a rich green gown that lowered below the ankle, fastened at the shoulders by intricately designed brooches, with a silk fabric sash wrapped around her waist and leather shoes adorned her feet. Her hair was lighter than her daughter's with emerald eyes set in a pleasant heart shaped face.

"Why should I?" the girl asked, wiping the tears from her own green eyes. "Why should I meet with the man who killed my father?" She didn't dare think what else he'd done on that day, of which she alone knew.

Lady Igerna sighed and regarded her daughter sadly, "Like it or not dear, he's going to be your new father, and if you don't make a good impression on him, then…"

"He's going to what? Kill me? I'll command his own sword to run him through…"

"NO!" Igerna shouted with stern anger. "This marriage is to weave a peace between Cornwall and Britannia. Our people's lives are counting on it, Morgana! Your father died in battle to maintain our independence, he failed, and now we must join with Britannia peacefully or face Uther's army when our own is but mere shadow of its former self." Morgana bowed her head and dearly wished she had the power to send Uther's thrice-damned army to burn in Hades, but alas with her largely self-taught neophyte Power it was but a dream. "No. What Uther could do, if you prove likely to be a nuisance for life in the royal court, is send you away somewhere in the kingdom – a safe place, but one where you'll never see me again."

Morgana felt her heart constrict painfully at that thought and resisted a fresh tide of tears that threatened to surge from her eyes. There really was no choice it seemed. "I'll get dressed."

"Good girl…"

* * *

It was mid-morning when Morgana found herself standing on the stairs leading down into the main courtyard of the castle. When she had been younger she considered the mighty walls as bastions of safety, a comfortable blanket that protected her, now they might as well not have been there at all. The enemy was riding in unchallenged, welcomed onto the shore upon which he might have been broken attempting to take by force.

His trotting entrance on horseback hit Morgana like a physical blow. He was wearing the same armor as he had that night; polished to glinting perfection and stylized with dragons on the breastplate, though now he had foregone the leg protection and helmet, in its place wearing a simple crown circlet that enclosed his long forehead. Uther had short hair, dashed with the first hints of frost, strong chin and cunning hazel eyes set in a face that she would never forget.

Her Power itched to strike somewhere… perhaps the leg of his horse just as he neared the well – with luck he would be crushed under the collapsing horse or break his neck on the well's lip…no. She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. Even if the people were not a factor she couldn't… Uther had someone standing behind him and his ascent to the throne of thrones, someone like her with Power, but well trained and powerful.

That was the only explanation behind the illusion she had managed to see through on that day of the battle. Uther had worn the image of her father like a blanket, walked into the castle and…

Morgana winced, struggling to banish the memory of the passionate moans and the sight of him copulating with her mother – seen through the crack of the door to the main bedroom. It had felt like it was taking an eternity yet in no time at all Morgana had to retreat to prevent Uther from discovering her. He had given the excuse of 'Just in case I don't come back' and 'rejoined' the army. Morgana had since then discretely talked to a few of the surviving Cornwall knights and discovered that her father had already been dead for an hour at that point.

Uther and his escort came to a stop at last and dismounted. His knights remained on their horses, but Uther only had eyes for Igerna and walked forward with a stately yet unhurried poise. Morgana's eyes were not on him though but rather searching through the entourage – she wouldn't be able to curb her glare if she looked at him – but instead tried to see if the magician was present. There were no obvious signs on any of them, she tried to will her eyes to see the hidden world, but found to her frustration that she couldn't – it was a sporadic talent, prone to fits and she couldn't yet command it reliably and it was especially difficult when her emotions were in turmoil.

It seemed it was one thing to put an illusion over someone and another to keep one over yourself.

So focused was she on Uther's entourage that she missed her mother beckoning her forward. Oh, it seemed she had also missed the King's greeting of Igerna – for which she was thankful – she just shuddered at the mere thought of him touching her mother again.

"…and this is my daughter, Morgana."

Morgana dutifully came forward to stand next to her mother and tried to keep her face as neutral as possible while looking up into the face of the enemy. Their eyes met briefly and just like that Uther broke contact and returned his gaze to mother. Morgana felt her stomach claw at itself, anger and crushing sadness warred with each other. She knew. She didn't know how. She knew…she had been pre-judged already. Uther had already made up his mind; he didn't want any reminder of the Duke as he claimed Igerna, his new Queen. Morgana would be a living embodiment of it as she walked around court.

The damning words came: "I don't believe the time is right for Morgana to come to the Royal Court. Perhaps in time, when she is more knowledgeable she can find a suitor from among my Knights or advisors, perhaps she will find a talent that will make her useful. She will therefore travel to the Isle of Wight to study in a convent there until she is ready."

Morgana didn't care about hiding her glare for him at this point and her fingernails threatened to draw blood from her palms so hard were her fists clenching…

Uther was utterly dismissive of her anger.

'_Oh yes, send me there, I will learn, I will study and develop my power until I can cast that pet magician of yours into oblivion and then…' _

* * *

**Hogwarts Castle, Scotland, 1993**

Harry practically collapsed out of breath but managed to stop himself and settled merely for leaning forward with his hands against his knees. He spat out a wad of saliva that felt like it was choking him. He breathed in with his nose and out with his mouth harshly and was lost in the effort to recover. When at last he felt he could stand upright he regarded the rather beautiful view of the Hogwarts Lake set against the backdrop of a slowly rising sun, with the majestic castle perched on the side of the valley and looming over everything as a dominant bastion. He longed for a free-run on those roofs but it was out of the question until he was much fitter, which was the reason he stayed on terra firma and training his running stamina and sprinting.

The years of Harry Hunting done by Dudley had already made him quite fit, but he had lost some of that by the past two years of coming to Hogwarts. Not only did he have to regain that, but now go far beyond it. The expression 'fit as a fiddle' didn't do it justice when he had referenced what the Assassin's considered an acceptable level of being able to run, sprint and still be able to fight afterwards, and continue running. It wasn't something that would come in a month, it would take years, until he had matured as a young adult – considering that he needed his body to grow up properly first.

But every journey begins with the first tentative steps and that was what Harry was doing now. He wiped sweat off his brow with his t-shirt and considered the distance he had managed… it was a promising start, but the goal loomed like a mountain before him, but it was one which had to be climbed.

His Ancestor, despite having _magic_, considered it just another part of herself, like a body part – it wasn't the sum multitude of her existence – as most magicians after Merlin and in the current day believed. All aspects of what made her _human_ was part of being an Assassin. She had hands and legs, so she wouldn't be above using them to kill, nor bladed weapons. She had a mind, and could use knowledge and words to manipulate or guide people to her ends. All aspects of being human – including magic - had to be improved to the point where the Assassin would achieve his/her goals as a mere by-product of that conditioning.

Harry turned around and began the stretches which would get out all the lactic acid from his muscles – the Assassin Codex was chock full of knowledge of human anatomy, from both Western and Asian sources. Training the body was the least of it, but also where if a blade was driven through would lead to mere paralysis, a long drawn out death, or instant death with not a peep or twitch out of the victim. Or how to use a simply rope to achieve the same. There was also a section on how to make various hand-thrown bombs to kill, distract and incapacitate, the latter two Harry knew the Weasley twins would've sold an arm and a leg to learn.

Magic could do a lot of the same, but the Nephili were frugal when it came to Power; efficiency, stealth and speed were everything. Why waste energy conjuring an explosion when a bomb crafted beforehand could do the same? Leaving your focus free for taking on yet more targets.

Harry was back in castle and Gryffindor House by six - school rules mandated that curfew ended at five in the morning. '_Hogwarts: A History is useful after all, thanks Hermione,_' he thought in amusement as he showered away the aches and pains of the training session.

Ron, Hermione and Harry entered the Great Hall for breakfast it was amazing how he felt rather energized for the day ahead and looking forward to it. The Codex had mentioned something about exercise doing this, something called endorphins – he'd have to look it up later…

He was eagerly scooping a meal into his plate – oh yes, balanced diet – yet another thing he'd to keep in mind. Timetables were now being handed out by Professor McGonagall and it was curious to note that Hermione already had hers for some reason. Had she received it last night already when McGonagall had called her away?

"Ooh, good, we're starting some new subjects today," she said happily.

"Which ones?" Harry enquired drinking from a glass of water.

"Divination, Arithmancy and Muggle Studies for this morning," said Hermione.

Harry looked at his own timetable, which only had Divination and immediately saw that there had to be a conflict or mix up with the schedules. Ron also spotted it.

"Hermione, how can you possibly attend those classes, they're at the same time?"

"Don't you worry about that, I've got it all sorted out with Professor McGonagall."

"But…"

She bulldozed over his objection, "We have to go now, since we have to find the Divination class first… we've never been up there before…"

Just then, Hagrid entered the Great Hall. He was wearing his long moleskin overcoat and was absentmindedly swinging a dead polecat from one enormous hand.

"All righ'?" he said eagerly, pausing on the way to the staff table. "Yer in my firs' ever lesson! Right after lunch! Bin up since five getting' everythin' ready…hope it's OK…me, a teacher…hones'ly…"

He grinned broadly at us and headed off to the staff table, still swinging the polecat.

"Wonder what he's been getting ready?" said Ron, a note of anxiety in his voice.

The Hall was starting to empty as people headed off towards their first lesson. Harry checked his timetable. "We'd better go, look, Divination's at the top of North Tower."

The journey through the castle to North Tower was a long one. Two years at Hogwarts hadn't taught them everything about the castle, and they had never been inside North Tower before.

"There's…got…to…be…a short…cut…" panted Ron as Hermione came up behind him. Harry was better off as they climbed a seventh long staircase and emerged on an unfamiliar landing, where there was nothing but a large painting of a bare stretch of grass hanging on the stone wall.

"I think it's this way," said Hermione, peering down the empty passage to the right.

"Can't be," said Ron. "That's south. Look, you can see a bit of the lake out the window…"

Harry was watching the painting. A fat, dapple-grey pony had just ambled onto the grass and was grazing nonchalantly. A moment later, a short, squat knight in a suit of armor had clanked into the picture after his pony. By the look of grass stains on his metal knees, he had just fallen off. "Aha!" he yelled, upon seeing us. "What villains are these that trespass upon my private lands? Come to scorn at my fall, perchance? Draw, you knaves, you dogs!"

They watched in astonishment as the little knight tugged his sword out of its scabbard and began brandishing it violently, hopping up and down in rage. But the sword was too long for him; a particularly wild swing made him overbalance, and he landed face down in the grass.

"Are you all right?" Harry said, moving closer to the picture.

"Get back, you scurvy braggart! Back you rogue!"

The knight seized his sword again and used it to push himself back up, but the blade sank deeply into the grass and, though he pulled with all his might, he couldn't get it out again. Finally he had to flop back down onto the grass and push up his visor to mop his sweating face.

"Listen," he said, taking advantage of the knight's exhaustion, "we're looking for the North Tower. You don't know the way, do you?"

"A quest!" The knight's rage seemed to vanish instantly. He clanked to his feet and shouted, "Come follow me, dear friends, and we shall find our goal, or else shall perish bravely in the charge!"

And he ran, clanking loudly, into the left-hand side of the frame and out of sight. They ran after him along the corridor, following the sound of his armor. Every now and then they spotted him running through a picture ahead.

"Be of stout heart, the worst is yet to come!" yelled the knight, and they saw him reappear in front of an alarmed group of women in crinolines, whose picture hung on the wall of a narrow spiral staircase. They climbed the tightly spiraling steps, getting dizzier and dizzier, until at least they heard the murmur of voices above us, and knew they had reached the classroom.

"Farewell!" cried the knight, popping his head into a painting of some sinister-looking monks. "Farewell, my comrades-in-arms! If ever you have need of noble heart and steely sinew, call upon Sir Cadogan!"

"Yeah, we'll call you," muttered Ron, as the knight disappeared, "if we ever need someone mental."

They climbed the last few steps and emerged onto a tiny landing, where most of the class was already assembled. There were no doors off the landing; Ron nudged Harry and pointed at the ceiling, where there was a circular trap door with a brass plaque on it.

"Sybill Trelawney, Divination teacher," Harry read. "How're we supposed to get up there?" He glanced automatically at the walls of the landing and noted that a run up the wall and a back eject jump would do the job, but it was unnecessary as at Harry's words the trap door suddenly opened, and a silvery ladder descended right at his feet. Everyone went quiet.

"After you," said Ron, grinning, so Harry shrugged and climbed the ladder first.

He emerged into the strangest looking classroom he had ever seen. In fact, it didn't look like a classroom at all; more like a cross between someone's attic and an old fashioned teashop. At least twenty small, circular tables were crammed inside it, all surrounded by chintz armchairs and fat little pouffles. Everything was lit with a dim, crimson light; the curtains at the windows were all closed, and the many lamps were draped with dark red scarves. It was stiflingly warm, and the fire which was burning under the crowded mantelpiece was giving off a heavy, sickly sort of perfume as it heated a large copper kettle. The shelves running around the circular walls were crammed with dusty-looking feathers, stubs of candles, many packs of tattered playing cards, countless silvery crystal balls and a huge array of teacups.

Ron and Neville appeared at Harry's shoulder as the class assembled talking in whispers.

"Where is she?" said Ron.

A voice came out of the shadows, a soft, misty sort of voice.

"Welcome," it said. "How nice to see you in the physical world at last."

Professor Trelawney moved into the firelight, and we saw that she was very thin; her large glasses magnified her eyes to several times their natural size, and she was draped in a gauzy spangled shawl. Innumerable chains and beads hung around her spindly neck, and her arms and hands were encrusted with bangles and rings.

"Sit, my children, sit," she said, and they all climbed awkwardly into armchairs or sank onto pouffes. Ron, Hermione and Harry sat around the same round table. "Welcome to Divination," said Professor Trelawney, who had seated herself in a winged armchair in front of the fire. "My name is Professor Trelawney. You may not have seen me before. I find that descending too often into the hustle and bustle of the main school clouds my Inner Eye."

Nobody said anything in answer to this extraordinary pronouncement. Professor Trelawney delicately arranged her shawl and continued, "So you have chosen to study Divination, the most difficult of all magical arts. I must warn you at the outset that if you do not have the Sight, there is very little I will be able to teach you. Books can take you only so far in this field…"

Harry frowned at that statement. That was not all Divination was about…at least…unless the definition of it had seriously changed since Morgana was alive.

"Many witches and wizards, talented though they are in the area of loud bangs and smells and sudden disappearings, are yet unable to penetrate the veiled mysteries of the future," said Professor Trelawney, her enormous, gleaming eyes moving from face to nervous face. "It is a Gift granted to few. You, boy," she said suddenly to Neville, who looked startled, "is your grandmother well?"

"I think so," said Neville uncertainly.

"I wouldn't be so sure if I were you dear," said Professor Trelawney, the firelight glinting on her long emerald earrings. Neville gulped. Professor Trelawney continued placidly, "we will be covering basic methods of Divination this year. The first term will be devoted to reading tea leaves. Next term we shall progress to palmistry. By the way, my dear," she shot suddenly at Parvati Patil, "beware a red-haired man."

Parvati gave a startled look at Ron, who was right behind her, and edged her chair away from him.

"In the summer term," the Professor went on, "we shall progress to the crystal ball – if we have finished with fire-omens, that is. Unfortunately, classes will be disrupted in February by a nasty bout of Flu. I myself will lose my voice. And around Easter, one of our number will leave us forever."

A very tense silence followed this pronouncement, but Professor Trelawney seemed unaware of it.

"I wonder dear," she said to Lavender Brown, who was nearest and shrank back in her chair, "if you could pass me the largest silver teapot?"

Lavender, looking relieved, stood up, took an enormous teapot from the shelf and put it down on the table in front of Professor Trelawney.

"Thank you, my dear. Incidentally, that thing you are dreading – it will happen on Friday the sixteenth of October."

Lavender trembled.

"Now, I want you all to divide into pairs. Collect a teacup from the shelf, come to me and I will fill it. Then sit down and drink; drink until only the dregs remain. Swill these around the cup three times with the left hand, then turn the cup upside down on its saucer; wait for the last of the tea to drain away, then give your cup to your partner to read. You will interpret the patterns using pages five and six of _Unfogging the Future_. I shall move among you, helping and instructing. Oh, and dear…" she caught Neville by the arm as he made to stand up, "after you've broken your first cup, would you be so kind as to select one of the blue patterned ones? I'm rather attached to pink."

Sure enough, Neville had no sooner reached the shelf of teacups than there was a tinkle of breaking china. Professor Trelawney swept over to him holding a dustpan and brush and said, "One of the blue ones then, dear, if you wouldn't mind…thank you…"

When Ron and Harry had their teacups filled, they went back to their table and tried to drink the scalding tea quickly. They swilled the dregs around as Professor Trelawney had instructed, then drained the cups and swapped them.

'_This is going to be interesting,_' Harry thought. All Nephili in Morgana's day had varying degrees of seeing into the future and the past that could be trained, but it was the rare one who could reliably call upon visions and prophecies of things years or even centuries into future. The best Morgana had ever achieved was a day or so into the future, and a year or so into past. She could stand in a place and see what had happened there, see the guards patrol routes to sneak past them near effortlessly, or hunt a target even if he had left no visible clues to his passage. Looking into the future her limit had been two seconds or so with no outside medium, she could see what moves her opponent made in a duel before they made them. With the aid of a focus like scrying water she had predicted a number of critical events that would've ended up very badly otherwise.

Harry didn't know yet how his talents would stack up in this area; it was also something that got better with age.

"Right," said Ron, as they both opened their books at pages five and six. "What can you see in mine?"

"Broaden your minds, my dears, allow your eyes to see past the mundane!" cried Professor Trelawney through the gloom.

"You've got a rat, sword and acorn," he said without thinking beyond the immediate interpretation of the first shapes he saw in the cup. He consulted _Unfogging the Future_ for the meanings.

"Rat: meaning treachery and other impending troubles. Sword: meaning either a victory by an enemy or injury sustained. Acorn: improvement in health or continued health. So someone is going to betray you, injuring you in the process but you'll survive."

"Well who could betray me? You're not thinking of becoming chummy with Malfoy are you?"

Harry rolled his eyes in annoyance. "Of course not, Ron."

"My turn…" said Ron, changing the subject, and peered into Harry's teacup, his forehead wrinkled with effort. "There's a blob a bit like a bowler hat," he said. "Maybe you're going to work for the Ministry of Magic…" He turned the teacup the other way up. "But this way it looks more like an acorn…what's that?" He scanned his copy of _Unfogging the Future_. "'A windfall, unexpected gold.' Good, you can lend me some. And there's a thing here," he turned the cup again, "that looks like an animal. Yeah, if that was its head…it looks like a hippo…no, a sheep…"

Professor Trelawney whirled around as she heard Ron's uncertainty.

"Let me see that, my dear," she said kindly to Ron, sweeping over and snatching Harry's cup from him. Everyone went quiet to watch. Professor Trelawney was staring into the teacup, rotating it anti-clockwise. "The falcon…my dear, you have a deadly enemy."

"But everyone knows that," said Hermione in a loud whisper. Professor Trelawney stared at her. "Well, they do," said Hermione. "Everybody knows about Harry and You-Know-Who."

Ron and Harry stared at her with a mixture of amazement and admiration. They had never heard Hermione speak to a teacher like that before. Professor Trelawney chose not to reply. She lowered her huge eyes to the cup again and continued to turn it.

"The club…an attack, dear, dear, this is not a happy cup…"

"I thought that was a bowler hat," said Ron sheepishly.

"The skull…danger in your path, my dear…"

Everyone was staring, transfixed, at Professor Trelawney, who gave the cup a final turn, gasped, and then screamed. She sank into a vacant armchair, her glittering hand at her heart and her eyes closed.

"My dear boy…my poor dear boy…no…it is kinder not to say…no…don't ask me…"

"What is it, Professor?" said Dean Thomas at once. Everyone had got to their feet, and slowly, they crowded around their table, pressing close to Professor Trelawney's chair to get a good look at Harry's cup.

"My dear," said Professor Trelawney, her huge eyes opened dramatically, "you have the Grim." Harry raised an eyebrow at that interpretation, he hadn't seen what was in the cup, but it was easy to tell that the Professor was lying for a bit of drama. "The giant, spectral dog that haunts churchyards! My dear boy, it is an omen…the worst omen…of _death!_"

Everyone was looking at Harry with confusion at how he was taking this so calmly. Everyone except Hermione, who had got up and moved around to the back of Professor Trelawney's chair. "I don't think it looks like a Grim," she said flatly. Professor Trelawney surveyed Hermione with mounting dislike.

"You'll forgive me for saying so, my dear, but I perceive very little aura around you. Very little receptivity to the resonances of the future."

Harry was now calling that a firm lie. In Eagle Vision Hermione's aura was brilliantly alive, she might not have the solid gift of prophecy, but the stuff Professor Trelawney was 'teaching' was rather pointless for those without a high degree of Sight. What of the magic that let you 'divine' information of your environment and others?

Seamus Finnigan was tilting his head from side to side.

"It looks like a Grim if you do this," he said, with his eyes almost shut, "but it looks more like a donkey from here," he said, leaning to the left.

"I think we will leave the lesson here for today," said Professor Trelawney in her mistiest voice. "Yes…please pack away your things…"

Silently they took their teacups back to Professor Trelawney, packed away books and closed bags. Ron and most of the class was avoiding looking at Harry – who was rather irritated by them taking Trelawney so seriously. She obviously wanted to engender a bit of enthusiasm for a subject that would be rather pedantic, boring and inaccurate for those without a high degree of the Sight. For most members in the history of the Brotherhood with Nephili blood, they had only been able to access Sight with the aid of smoking hashish – which served to dull the conscious mind and allow more fluid access to the perception of time itself.

"Until we meet again," said Professor Trelawney faintly, "fair fortune be yours."

Harry and Ron headed down from the North Tower. "Can you believe that?"

"No," Harry answered curtly. "What do you think Hermione?" he asked, interested in what the studious girl thought. No answer came and they both turned round to find that she had vanished.

"Interesting."

Ron goggled at Harry, "Hermione inexplicably vanishes and you find it 'interesting?'"

"She probably went down that corridor that we just passed," Harry frowned, "though it's interesting that she didn't walk with us… yet it's a free country last I checked so she can walk where she wants to."

Harry strode ahead, in a hurry to get to Transfiguration and not be late for the strictest teacher in Hogwarts. By the time they arrived, Hermione was there before them, yet they had taken the shortest route possible. Either she had learned of another faster route, somehow apparated in Hogwarts, or…

"Hermione, where did you go?" asked Ron. "You were behind us, next time I looked you were gone, and I didn't see you pass us, but now you're here before us all?"

"Shhh," she said quickly as McGonagall got up to begin her lesson.

The rest of class though kept shooting furtive glances at Harry, as though he was about to drop dead at any moment. An unfortunate side-effect of Divination class it seemed.

The class hardly heard what the Professor was telling them about Animagi. Harry watched as McGonagall transformed herself in front of their eyes into a tabby cat with spectacle markings around her eyes. Rather intrigued he willed his eyes into Eagle Vision…her aura didn't look entirely animal, there were if you looked close enough these random spikes and fluctuations that indicated emissions of blue-ish power that only humans had – that were especially pronounced with wizards.

"Really, what has got into you all today?" said Professor McGonagall, turning back into herself with a faint _pop_, and staring around at us all. "Not that it matters, but that's the first time my transformation's not got applause from a class." Everybody's heads turned towards Harry again.

„We had our first class with Professor Trelawney and had a tea leaf reading that was especially _grim_ for me..."

"Ah, of course," said Professor McGonagall, suddenly frowning. "There is no need to say any more, Mr Potter. Then you should know that Sybill Trelawney has predicted the death of one student a year since she arrived at this school. None of them has died yet. Seeing death omens is her favourite way of greeting a new class. If it were not for the fact that I never speak ill of my colleagues…" she broke off, and I saw that her nostrils had gone white. She went on more calmly, "Divination is one of the most imprecise branches of magic. I shall not conceal from you that I very little patience with it. True Seers are very rare, and Professor Trelawney…" She stopped again, and then said, in a very matter-of-fact tone, "You look in excellent health to me, Potter, so you will excuse me if I don't let you off homework today. I assure you that if you die, you need not hand it in."

Harry laughed in amusement and nodded. Not everyone was convinced however. Ron still looked worried, and Lavender whispered, "But what about Neville's broken cup?"

When Transfiguration class had finished, they joined the crowd thundering towards the Great Hall for lunch. "Ron, cheer up," said Hermione, pushing a dish of stew towards him. "You heard what Professor McGonagall said." Ron spooned stew onto his plate and picked up his fork but didn't start.

"Harry," he said, in a low, serious voice, "you _haven't_ seen a great black dog anywhere, have you?"

"No," came the flat reply.

"I think Divination seemed very woolly," she said, searching for her page in an Arithmancy book. "A lot of guesswork, if you ask me." The sight of the book reminded Harry that he'd really have to go to the library to get all seven years of that book to find out the new developments in that field since Morgana had been around. He had already found today in Transfiguration that there was a bunch of new theory that had been developed – though there was an odd lack of other concepts that just wasn't there, yet should be.

Had knowledge been lost? Certainly, it was inevitable consequence of history and time, hence the reason for the Animus' existence at all, but there were some theories in the Transfiguration book that he knew flat out to be untrue – as his Ancestor could casually 'violate' some of those 'laws.' Someone had been pruning knowledge, and advancing lies…that was practically the Templars _modus operandi_, the question now was…who?

* * *

The day's classes had passed and found Harry slowly walking on what used to be the third floor corridor that had been forbidden during his first year. Now that there was no longer a Philosopher's Stone to protect, all the traps had been cleared out – leaving quite a few unused rooms and large chambers. The main door leading to the area had been locked with something quite a bit more powerful this time – it was a modified form of an Iron Threshold spell that had taken a bit of finesse to get past.

Harry strolled past the trapdoor Fluffy the Cerberus had been standing on and grinned. He'd had his first Care of Magical Creatures lesson that afternoon where they had studied Hippogriffs. '_The things wizards have dreamed up,_' Harry thought in amusement. Who had had the bright idea to cast an illusion over a filly so that it would look like a female griffin in heat? Some wizard probably wanted to fly great distances, the griffin would've been great, but it was untamable. So Hippogriffs came into being – would've come in right handy in many of Morgana's assignments to have a hippogriff on her travels. He had even gotten to fly on a hippogriff named Buckbeak and gotten to experiment in the air a bit, it really was just like a horse but with the ability to move in the third dimension with flight.

It was a lesson unfortunately blighted by Draco Malfoy. The Slytherin, unable to throw his weight around the school anymore, had purposefully ignored instructions from Hagrid on how to handle the hippogriff and as a result got himself clawed by Buckbeak. The idiot could've been disemboweled had he not used his right arm to take the slash – but now of course he was wining that it was Hagrid's fault and was going to write to his Daddy to complain.

Harry sighed as he found the more mundane route towards the chamber that had held the Devil's Snare plant – a small spiral staircase about fifty feet along the corridor. He resisted retracing his path to the Stone, now was not the time for nostalgia, and began a thorough exploration of every adjoin room on this level. There were quite a few old classrooms, still filled with dust covered desks and chairs packed on top of each other along the walls - definitely useful for future Transfiguration base material for his needs.

"Ah ha," he grinned as opened another thick door. Beyond were heaps of dusty and rusty pieces of armor. Most were broken or bent in a manner that meant they couldn't be assembled into the customary animated suits of armor that were a feature of many a Hogwarts corridor. It would take time to sort out what was salvageable and useful but he was confident he could get enough to a make the Double Hidden Blade –he'd need thick leather from somewhere as well.

Though the Hidden Blade bracers were reduced to being mostly ceremonial in nature given the modern state of concealable weapons, not to mention sniper rifles, the fact remained that a skilled enough Assassin could still use them quite effectively.

Harry made a mental note of the location of the room, and continued on.

It was then that he found a large wooden double door, with thick iron ring handles. He had to put a bit of heave to open them and his eyes widened at the large room beyond. This was where he had fought Quirrell.

The stairs leading down to the central rectangular area were the same… there was the side door where Snape's Potion Logic Puzzle had been.

Harry walked down and stepped right on the spot where the Mirror of Erised had been, before looking up at the high arched ceiling and grinning.

"It'll do."

* * *

A/N: That's where I'll end this chapter. It always amazed me that the 3rd Floor corridor wasn't brought up again or used by Harry et al. I understand that they couldn't use it with Umbridge on the warpath in 5th year, but not even a mention in 4th year when Harry had all that motivation for learning stuff for Triwzard. All that huge empty space is just begging for all sorts of interesting old things to find and space to be used. Not to mention some interesting traps and wards to be placed for uninvited guests.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Ron Weasley couldn't point to an exact time when he realized that there was something rather weird going on with his two best friends. It wasn't enough that Hermione was acting all evasive when it came to explaining her impossible class schedule and sudden appearances and disappearances when he wasn't looking, now Harry was also joining in on the fun it seemed.

Ron had gotten up early once to answer an urgent call of nature and noticed that Harry's bed was already made up and a quick look downstairs in the Common room revealed that he was not there either. By the time Ron awoke again for the start of the school day, Harry was back, freshly showered and reading a library book in the Common room with a title written in runes while idly twirling his wand. In fact, it was beginning to be rare to see Harry using his free time without a thick magical book in hand of some sort. It was also increasingly rare to see Harry during weekends at all. He was almost turning in a male version of Hermione – though one who made the time to occasionally play against Ron in chess or play pickup Quidditch games.

Harry also had this new serious air about him as his reaction to Draco Malfoy whose arm was bandaged and in a sling thanks to the slash he'd gotten from Buckbeak the Hippogriff showed. Malfoy's arm was completely uninjured and he was just milking the incident for all it was worth. He was even having his father complain to the Board of Governors and the Ministry of Magic.

"So you're doing this to get Hagrid sacked," Harry said evenly while chopping up a dead caterpillar in their Thursday Potions class with a quick dexterous skill, then idly pointed the silver knife at the Malfoy scion, "Not to mention an excuse to be a lazy slob, distract us, perhaps even infuriate us into doing something so we'd have our friendly resident Potion Master put us in detention and lose House points. Does that sum it up, Malfoy?"

Malfoy's smirk really made Ron want to shove his fist into that face.

Harry just fixed Malfoy with a flat stare and grabbed Malfoy's own caterpillars from Ron, before chopping them perfectly as well. Ron goggled at that until Harry muttered under his breath, "I'm imagining his fingers are the caterpillars."

"Hey Harry," said Seamus Finnegan, leaning over to borrow Harry's brass scales, "have you heard? Daily Prophet this morning – they reckon Sirius Black's been sighted."

Harry raised an eyebrow at that news, before focusing on the next step of his potion. Only when he was done did he ask, "Where?"

"Not too far from here," said Seamus, who looked excited. "It was a Muggle who saw him. So she phoned the telephone hotline. By the time the Ministry of Magic got there, he was long gone."

Any further discussion was interrupted by Malfoy's leaning across the table and eyeing Harry with a malevolent satisfaction. "Thinking of trying to catch Black single handed, Potter?"

"Who said anything of catching?" Harry was twirling the silver knife rather impressively in his right hand as he answered.

'_Did Harry just imply…?_' Ron thought with alarm. Even Malfoy looked surprised at the declaration.

"Really Potter?" Malfoy looked rather delighted, but then resumed his superior air, "Of course, if it was me. I'd have done something by now. I wouldn't be staying in school like a good boy, I'd be out there…"

"Lucky for me then, I'm not _you_, Malfoy," Harry said calmly. "You heard Seamus, Black is on his way here… so why should I meet an enemy on his terms if I had a choice about it? Hmmm?"

Amazingly enough, Malfoy had nothing to say in retaliation and merely eyed Harry with a frank curiosity that unnerved Ron. Harry's focus had shifted to the right side of the Potions classroom and was scowling. Snape was busy with his usual hobby of 'terrifying Neville Longbottom into a useless lump', which was one of the prime reasons Neville always messed up his potions, upon which he was just further degraded by the Potion's master. It was a vicious cycle, one which the Slytherin's Crabbe and Goyle delighted in watching.

Thankfully Hermione was there to save the day, having helped Neville with his Shrinking Solution to the extent that it actually _shrunk _Neville's pet toad instead of killing it.

Then there was occasion of their first Defense against the Dark Arts lesson with Professor Lupin. It was memorable for many things; mainly that it was the first useful lesson on the subject Ron could ever recall receiving and gotten the first hints of what an upstanding bloke Remus Lupin would be. Lupin smiled vaguely at the class and put his tatty old leather briefcase on the teacher's desk. He looked better than he had on the train though.

"Good afternoon," he said. "Would you please put all your books back in your bags. Today will be a practical lesson. You will only need your wands."

Ron grinned with surprise, this would surely be interesting. The class got to its feet and followed Professor Lupin out of the classroom. He led them along the deserted corridor and around a corner where the first thing they saw was Peeves the poltergeist, who was floating upside down in mid-air and stuffing the nearest keyhole with chewing gum. Peeves didn't look up until Professor Lupin was two feet away, then wiggled his toes and broke into song.

"Loony loopy Lupin," Peeves sang. "Loony loopy Lupin…"

Peeves usually showed some respect to teachers, so this behavior was rather surprising. Equally surprising was Lupin's reaction, who merely continued smiling. "I'd take that gum out of keyhole, Peeves," he said pleasantly, "Mr Filch won't be able to get to his brooms."

Ron grinned at the thought. Peeves and the Hogwarts Caretaker's battles were the stuff of legend. The bad-tempered failed wizard considered the poltergeist his enemy number one, alongside the students of the school. Peeves only blew a wet raspberry in response to Lupin.

The Professor drew his wand with a sigh. "This is a useful spell," he told the class over his shoulder. "Please watch closely." He raised the wand to shoulder height and cast, "_Waddiwassi!_" aiming it at the gum stuffed keyhole.

With the force of an iron bludger at full speed, the wad of chewing gum shot out of the keyhole and straight down Peeves's left nostril; he whirled and zoomed away, cursing foully as he went.

"Cool, sir!" said Dean Thomas in amazement. Harry looked pensive as he stared at the keyhole and mouthed the spell Lupin had used silently to himself.

"Thank you, Dean," Lupin said, putting away his wand. "Shall we proceed?"

They set off again, and Ron felt pleased that they finally had a teacher in this subject who could hold a wand and competently send off spells. It was much better than the pompous bumbling Lockhart from last year or the stuttering theory spouting Professor I'm-being-possessed-by-You-Know-Who from first year. He led them down a second corridor and stopped outside right outside the staff-room door. He opened it and invited them inside.

The staff room, a long paneled room full of old mismatched chairs, was empty except for one teacher. Professor Snape was sitting in a low armchair, and he looked around as the class filed in. His eyes were glittering and there was a nasty sneer playing around his mouth. As Professor Lupin came in and made to close the door, he said, "Leave it open, Lupin. I'd rather not witness this." He got to his feet and strode past the class, black robes billowing. At the doorway he paused and turned on his heel, "No one's warned you, Lupin. This class contains Neville Longbottom. I would advise you not to entrust him with anything difficult. Not unless Miss Granger is hissing instructions into his ear."

"Bad enough he's bullying Neville in his classes," Harry hissed angrily under his breath to Ron, "but now he's doing it in front of other teachers… not even worthy the title of teacher, never mind a professor." Ron could only agree.

"I was hoping Neville would assist me in the first stage of the lesson," Professor Lupin said earnestly, "and I'm sure he will perform admirably."

Neville's face was beet red at this point. Snape only sneered and left, snapping the door shut behind him.

"Now then," Professor Lupin beckoned the class over to one side of the room, where there was nothing except for an old wardrobe in which the teachers kept their spare robes. As Professor Lupin stood next to it, it gave off a sudden wobble, banging off the wall. "Nothing to worry about," he said as a few people jumped in alarm. "There's a Boggart in there."

Ron frowned in curiosity. The Burrow had on occasion played host to a Boggart, but Mum always made a business of getting rid of them before it could catch any of the rest of the family unawares. Her constant cleaning of the house made a Boggart scare a rare occasion. Ron always wondered how she'd dealt with the things.

"Boggarts like dark enclosed spaces," Professor Lupin continued, "wardrobes, gaps beneath beds, cupboards under sinks – I once met one who had lodged itself in a grandfather clock. This one moved in yesterday afternoon, and I asked the Headmaster if the staff would leave it alone to give my third years some practice. So now I ask, what is a Boggart?"

Hermione put up her hand immediately. "It's a shape-shifter, which will turn into whatever it thinks will frighten us most."

"Couldn't have put it better myself," Lupin grinned and Hermione glowed with satisfaction. "So the Boggart sitting in the darkness within has not assumed a form. He does not yet know what will frighten the person on the other side of the door. Nobody knows what a Boggart looks like when he's alone, but when I let him out, he will become whatever each of us most fears. This means," he ignored Neville's small splutter of terror, "that we have a huge advantage over the Boggart already. Have you spotted it, Harry?"

"There are too many of us, each with different fears. There is only one Boggart. He can't possibly assume one form that will truly frighten us all."

"Precisely," Professor Lupin smiled. "It's always best to have company when dealing with a Boggart. He becomes confused. Which should he become, a headless corpse or a flesh-eating slug? I once saw a Boggart make that very mistake, tried to frighten two people at once and turned himself into half a slug. Not remotely frightening. The charm that repels a Boggart is simple yet it requires force of mind behind it. The thing that really finishes a Boggart is laughter. What you need to do is force it to assume a shape that you find amusing. We will practice the charm without wands first… repeat after me, _Riddikulus_!"

The class dutifully repeated the incantation.

"Good, that was the easy part. Force of mind is the next part of the equation. Neville, this is where you come in." The wardrobe shook again, though not as much as Neville, who walked forward as if he was walking to face his doom. "Right Neville, first things first, what would you say is the thing that frightens you most in the world?"

Neville's lips moved, but no sound came out.

"Didn't catch that, Neville, sorry," Lupin said cheerfully.

Neville looked around wildly before mumbling in a whisper, "Professor Snape."

Nearly everyone laughed, except for Harry, though Neville grinned in an apologetic fashion. Professor Lupin looked thoughtful however. "Hmmm. Neville, I believe you live with your grandmother?"

"Yes," Neville nodded but his face was confused at the question.

"Can you tell us what she usually wears?"

Neville looked startled, but answered, "Always the same hat, with a vulture stuffed on top. A long dress green normally and sometimes a fox-fur scarf."

"And a handbag?"

"A big red one," Neville nodded.

"Right then, I want you picture that very clearly in your mind. Put it in front of your mind's eye. Can you do that?"

"Yes," said Neville uncertainly, occasionally closing his eyes to do so, and clearly wondering what was coming next.

"When the Boggart bursts out of the wardrobe and sees you Neville, it will assume the form of Professor Snape," said Lupin. "And you will raise your wand and cry 'Riddikulus' and concentrate hard on your grandmother's clothes in your mind. If all goes well, Professor Boggart Snape will be forced into a vulture-topped hat, green dress, and red handbag."

There was great shout of laughter from the class, and Ron slapped his knees so great was the laughter that bubbled forth.

"If Neville is successful the Boggart will turn his attention to each of us in turn," Lupin explained. "I would like all of you to take a moment to think of the thing that scares you most, and imagine how you would force it to look comical."

Ron thought…that was easy. Spiders…urggh, all wriggly and hairy, with too many eyes and a mandibled poison mouth. He would never forgive his twin brothers for siccing a spider on his pillow when he was young. The way their legs moved was enough to send icy fingers of fear tickling down his back. On second thought, it wouldn't be a normal spider… no… his mind flashed to last year and the fear he felt while being chased by an entire colony of giant Acromantula's in a magically enchanted car…so how to make it comical?

Neville was ready and Ron had a vague idea of what to do with a Boggart Acromantula. Lupin ushered the students away to give a clear field to Neville for the confrontation.

"On the count of tree, Neville," Professor Lupin was pointing his wand at the wardrobe handle. "One – two – three…now!"

A flick from Lupin's wand and the handle turned itself and the wardrobe burst open. A pale hand appeared followed by the tall form of Professor Snape, his dark eyes flashing malevolently at Neville. The boy kept his wand up, his mouth seeming to struggle to get the word out. Snape bore down on him, reaching into his robes for a wand.

"R-r-ridikulus!" Neville squeaked.

The form of the Boggart rippled and shimmered. Snape was now wearing a long lace trimmed dress and a towering hat topped with a moth eaten vulture, swinging a huge crimson handbag. The class roared with laughter. Harry was holding his stomach so hard was his laughter and exclaimed, "Where's Colin and his camera when you need it?"

The Boggart paused, confused at the reaction. So it was that each student was called forward to confront the shapeshifter and took turns with using the spell that forced its form to shift. It was a rather interesting parade of things and creatures; a mummy, banshee, a rat, a rattlesnake, a single bloody eyeball, a severed hand which seemed to act like it was a crab from Dean. Then it was Ron's turn and sure enough a giant spider, six feet tall and hairy, its pincers clicking advanced. He felt that familiar fear surge through him despite the intellectual knowledge that it wasn't really a spider… it caused him to hesitate for a moment… then '_Riddikulus_!"

The spider's legs vanished and it was helpless on its back.

Then it was Harry's turn. The Boggart's form rippled and suddenly a man stood in the class. Ron's heart lurched at the sight, thinking that they were going to see You-Know-Who himself. Then he saw… it was a somewhat old man, with balding grey hair and a short beard, wearing Muggle clothes with a white overcoat and clutching a gold sphere in his right hand that glowed and flashed with light and magic, whilst in his left he held a long ornate sword that was also glowing with power. The man was smirking at Harry with a smile of triumph. "You think you've escaped but…"

Ron looked in confusion at Harry and was startled to see the ugliest expression of anger and hatred on the Boy-Who-Lived's face that he'd ever seen. Harry raised his wand and angrily enchanted, "_Riddikulus_!"

Ron felt all the hair on his body tingle with the power of the spell. The odd sphere in the old man's hand exploded with silvery tendrils of power and lanced into him – he fell to his knees clutching at his chest weakly, the magic pulsed again and the old man's chest exploded with blood and the sword clattered to the floor from nerveless fingers.

The class gasped in horror, but Harry just laughed darkly at the 'old man' who was now struggling to breathe and the Boggart exploded with motes of magic floating off into the air.

Suffice it to say that Professor Lupin had to end it there and quite a few of the girls had to be admitted to the Hospital Wing to take Calming Potions. Ron would never forget that look on Harry's face for the rest of his days. It had really terrified him at the time. Had Harry's kidnapping changed him so much? Yet there would be times when Ron would take comfort in that fierce look of determination on Harry's face as he glared at the empty space where the old man Boggart had been.

* * *

Harry Potter was not surprised to receive a note via school owl to appear in front of Professor McGonagall early that evening for a politely phrased 'discussion'. The whole Boggart incident had served as nice demonstration for the fact that while he had 'lived' an Ancestor's lifetime all the way to achieve sync nexus – in more laymens terms, living through all the genetic memories that had been passed down through the generations – with Morgana, he was now in his thirteen year old true body, and had yet to contend with the impulse control issues and emotional turnarounds associated with that. He would've otherwise chosen a much more 'Family Rated' version of the Riddikulus spell to hit the Boggart of Dr Vidic with.

But the appearance of the man holding not one but two of the Apples of Eden – mysterious powerful artifacts that weaved through history like blood soaked yet golden threads – that supposedly dated back to the time of 'Eden' itself and were made by the Greek and Roman gods and implying that Harry was still actually within the Animus and that he was just living an elaborate fantasy program. Suffice it to say, subtlety and rational thought had gone out the window to be replaced by rage and his favorite fantasy of what he wanted to happen to dear Dr Vidic – killed by the very things he so sought.

He walked up to McGonagall's office door, which was neighboring the Transfiguration classroom and knocked.

"Come in, Mr Potter."

Entering the Deputy-Head's office he couldn't help but compare it to Dumbledore's. It certainly reflected the woman herself – tasteful yet minimalist, completely functional and not a hint of eccentricity anywhere. He could almost convince himself he was walking into some barrister's office, except one with a giant bookshelf with books on a wide variety of magical subjects. Minerva McGonagall in her typical emerald witches' robes stood behind her large polished desk and gestured to the visitor's seat.

"Have a seat, Mr Potter," her face was neutral, as was her bearing, though there was a hint of kind concern in her tone and her aura was a blazing blue with hints of violet. Harry took the invitation and made the effort to look worried.

McGonagall took her own seat and studied Harry for a moment before looking seriously at him, "Mr Potter, I'm the Head of Gryffindor House – most students think that just means I handle discipline problems when it arises and organize the affairs of the Gryffindor Prefects. But actually it's also my responsibility to be a substitute parent for my Gryffindor students who have all a manner of problems that come with being a teenager. This involves adolescent issues regarding body and mind, career consultation, academic problems, and counseling students who've suffered trauma…" She gave Harry a significant look. "It's something I've unfortunately had a lot of experience with. During You-Know-Who's eleven years of terror, I've lost count of the number of times I had to help students who lost parents and loved ones."

Harry sighed wearily and rubbed a hand through his hair. McGonagall withdrew her wand and gave it an all encompassing swish through the air. Harry felt one very impressive and powerful ward rise up around them. "In this capacity, I'm sworn to the strictest levels of secrecy short of taking an Unbreakable Vow, Mr Potter. This is something I should've done for you on two occasions, after Quirrell and that Chamber business, on both occasions I was dissuaded by the Headmaster, that he would counsel and advise you."

"He did do so," Harry frowned.

"Yes, but as you can see by the fact that the Headmaster has not visited you in St Mungo's and is not speaking to you now… that he is no position to offer you guidance. He's consummately busy this year even more so than usual due to an International wizarding event that is due to take place next year. So he has deferred this responsibility to me."

Harry nodded that he understood, "So what will this counseling involve?"

"As much or as little as you want it to, but it has to take place…" McGonagall only wished that this sort of thing had been done in the forties, how much grief could the world have been spared if that desperate orphan boy truly had _someone_ on his side to advise him properly? And not just a bunch of uncaring eagle eyed teachers. "I can even swear an Oath of the Avenging Fire if it would make you feel more at ease."

"Avenging Fire?"

McGonagall's tone was casual as she explained, "If I should knowingly or be forced to betray and divulge what you tell me, my tongue would burst into flame until it was burned to ashes. It's not life threatening with medical attention nearby, but I would still be on a very long and painful road to recovery and everyone would know what I had done, which would cause me to be sacked in short order."

Harry was startled at that level of commitment and winced at the thought of that happening to someone, but the cold rational part of himself admitted it was an effective means of ensuring trust. "Very well."

McGonagall nodded, "Then let's talk about your Boggart…"

* * *

Harry glared at the solid wall that faced him in the large main room of his Hideout on the third floor. The floor near this wall had been lined with Cushioning Charms and he was rather thankful he was not putting himself through the version of wall running Morgana had been put through by her Nephili Mentor. Harry took a deep breath and ran directly at the wall, he lifted his right foot an instant before he would've impacted face first and pushed diagonally into the wall. He felt himself lift into the air before he brought his left foot forward to push down -he was higher -his right foot came up to climb higher and his momentum was spent. He slapped his hand on the wall as high as he could reach, a bit of ink on their tips marking his achieved height, before gravity reclaimed him and he fell feet first onto the marble floor that yielded like a trampoline to absorb his fall.

Harry looked up at the ink mark and compared it to the others along the wall. It was good progress but the muscle memory had to be 'translated' into his body, not to mention he would go higher as he grew and his strength and fitness increased. There was also the trick that Nephili could alter their 'affinity for the Earth' at will – in other words, gravitational attraction. Harry was not confident in trying that at all without somebody capable of 'spotting' for him – Hermione with a ready Momentum and Levitation Charm for example. That would of course mean letting her in on at least some of what he was doing.

Harry sighed – it was forever the bane of the Assassins – what to do or not do with regard to friends and loved ones. They were sources of strength, what you used in your motivation to fight and protect the world they lived in, but they were also targets for retaliation and coercion

He walked away from the wall and moved to the centre of the room to practice the various methods of falling in combat. These were a pain, literally, since he was doing them on a hard stone floor, but he couldn't ask his opponents to nicely move the fight onto a nice soft surface. Half an hour later he picked himself up from the floor with a wince. After stretching out his muscles he moved on to an hour of unarmed combat drills – using a transfigured wooden dummy laden with half-strength cushioning charms to simulate the striking of flesh and blood human.

He was thoroughly spent by the end of that session and greedily drank water from a bottle and wiped off his sweat with a towel, before doing warm down exercises. The last item in his agenda for the day was to complete more components of his Hidden blades.

He walked over to a large broad table which held the results of his efforts thus far. A large piece of parchment with the components sketched to scale was pinned on it. He picked his next component to fashion and studied it intently for a full minute before drawing his wand and walking over to the large ingot of tempered armor quality steel he had salvaged.

His wand flicked through the air and the ingot hovered high into the air. Another flick and the ingot became molten liquid steel that blazed heat. His wand now twirled and a small amount of the steel siphoned itself off and molded itself to the image Harry was holding in his mind. A last flick of the wand and the component solidified, all its heat gone.

He plucked the component out of the air and examined it from every angle, comparing it to the diagram drawing, before giving a satisfied nod and putting it down in its place. He finished another four pieces that night before evening curfew was imminent, having to do corrections to imperfections in the initial transfiguration before he solidified the ingot again.

Harry surveyed his progress – if all went well he'd be sitting with a finished Hidden Blade in a few weeks for his left arm, then another three weeks for the right. Then adding the Pistol attachment on the inner forearm of the left bracer, whilst putting a dart launcher on the right bracer, and put in a mechanism that was specifically meant to hold his wand – he'd be fastest on the draw so to speak than anyone – no more fumbling in robe pockets… in time he'd perhaps put in a Hookblade when he was skilled enough.

Feeling satisfied he left his Hideout, checking and strengthening the wards and various non-lethal curses and traps he'd placed on the way towards it – some which were from Morgana's own personal repertoire. The Iron Threshold spell he left on the door to the third floor to keep up appearances – it wouldn't fool a wizard of Dumbledore's caliber that the spell was the same one originally cast on it, but it still served to keep students below sixth year out.

Now he had the last unpleasant prospect of the day to get out of the way, being undoubtedly confronted by both Ron and Hermione about his weird Boggart, no doubt Hogwarts gossip mill was its usual efficient self and the whole school knew. It really vexed Harry that a personal thing like his deepest fear was displayed for all the world to see in that lesson… then again Professor Lupin hadn't thought that a bunch of thirteen year olds would have serious non-childish fears yet.

He passed into the Gryffindor Common room after muttering the password to the Fat Lady's portrait. There were quite a few late night studiers – mostly fifth and seventh years scattered about the large circular room, but sure enough Ron and Hermione were both at their favorite place, seated in armchairs close to a window that overlooked the main grounds and near one of the fireplaces – which was still glowing with heat from its coals.

"Harry," Hermione greeted him with a worried aspect which she was trying to hide.

"Hey mate," Ron looked weary and Harry fell into a seat next to them and tented his fingers under his chin in contemplation, before taking out his wand and putting up a Circle of Silence. '_Forsuwunge Hring_', he whispered.

He laughed as he saw Hermione blink at the unfamiliar spell and touch a finger to the perimeter of the ward that was slightly distorting the light around them at its perimeter. "Harry…?"

"Just a little something to keep our conversation private, and yes you can find it in the library, I'll show you the book," Harry grinned cheekily at her.

She huffed at being pre-empted, "Harry, I realize it might be personal given what we saw, but who was that man your Boggart turned into?"

"Who do _you_ think he is?" Harry retorted knowingly.

Ron shook his head, "How are we supposed to know?".

"Well, given what he said – was he your kidnapper?"

"Yes, he introduced himself as Doctor Vidic."

"A Muggle?" Ron blinked.

"I don't know," Harry shrugged. "He didn't straight up use a wand in front of me, but his knowledge and what he was trying to achieve... It's as if he was a muggleborn wizard who studied and grew up in the wizard world and left to become just as proficient in the affairs of the normal world."

"Then there would be records of him here then," Hermione concluded.

"If there were, we wouldn't know where to begin," Harry dismissed it. "Everything about Vidic could've been disguised. His accent was American I believe, but it's easy to fake that, his name could be an alias, and his face altered. He has an entire multinational company behind him as well, and you know how powerful those can be Hermione. Vidic is one of those people who finds _you_, and not the other way around."

"Grief," Hermione muttered and shook her head. "What's the company's name?"

"I can't say, I only know their logo," Harry whipped up his wand and after a muttered spell used it to draw a fiery symbol in the air – three interlocked trapeziums that almost formed a triangle.

"Looks familiar, can swear I've seen it somewhere before," Hermione squinted at it. "What about the sword and sphere he held?"

"There are many artifacts of power in the world, and many seek to claim them. Voldemort tried to get one in our first year, those are similar and powerful in their own ways," Harry shrugged. "I don't know what they do – but can you imagine getting hit with that sword? – it probably makes Godric Gryffindor's sword look like a common pigsticker in comparison. The sphere could hold any number of powers as well."

"It _is_ a magically powerful shape," Hermione frowned in thought. "Those are something that can be researched in the library. But if he's after these artifacts, how does kidnapping _you_ help him do that?"

"That Hermione is the question and in this case I'm sorry to say that I can't answer you. Dumbledore once told me that the truth is a wonderful and terrible thing. I never truly understood that until my kidnapping. In this case, it's something that you both must see and experience for yourself when the time comes, no amount of words on my part can convey it and it must not be spoken of. You must also be able to guard this secret properly first – a capable wizard can enchant secrets right out of you if he really wants to."

Harry stretched and yawned before taking down the ward. "If you'll excuse me, I'm dog tired, good night."

He left two very thoughtful and somewhat confused friends in his wake.

* * *

**Outskirts of Kynges Towne**

**Isle of Wight**

**British Isles**

**567 AD**

Morgana stepped out of the front doors of the stone brick convent into the fresh morning air. She smoothed down her plain dress and retied her belt. Her form was now even more womanly and there had been quite a few young men on the island who had tried to charm their way into her bed and heart. She had been rather flattered, but had enjoyed them only for their company during harvest festivals and at the drinking houses. She couldn't afford to get distracted by dalliances with men and even Goddess forbid chance falling in love. Her personal quest was too important.

The first steps on that road had been learning to write in Roman and Futhorc in the Convent. Then learning of the ways of magick from a local Druid named Nologaln who had agreed to give her instruction on the rudiments of Power. The man was rather busy otherwise as he had to organize worship, sacrifices, divination, and judicial procedure. The instruction was all done in secret in the only forest on the Isle, though they had to go to a cave set in one of the bluffs off the coast on occasion.

Morgana closed the heavy door and began her morning constitutional, which generally involved a long walk south where she would run into the south eastern coast of the island and back. She always had her gnarled stave with her – which she knew now very well how to use, as quite a few robbers could attest to, and a number of cutthroats and would be ravishers found themselves cursed and enchanted for their trouble before unwillingly running off to Nologaln to confess their foolishness. The judgment was usually swift as the Druid's ability to discern truth from falsehood was very good and they would be sentenced to die as criminals in ritual sacrifices of divination.

Morgana therefore could experiment in developing her power in her own way. She had no intention of becoming a Druidess but the healing arts they traditionally learned would be useful as well to her future plans to return to Uther's royal court.

Soon she was breathing in the fresh sea air and walking along the beach, taking off her leather sandals to enjoy the feeling of wet beach sand between her toes. It was a walk that was not fated to be enjoyed however; her eyes spotted a distant shape on the sea that was approaching, which could only be a ship.

Its two large sails set angled to the wooden hull and the movement of large oars on its flanks were unmistakable. The forms of men moving on the upper deck were quite numerous.

Morgana stopped her walk though when more sails began appearing out of the early morning fog.

Dozens of them…

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A/N: Happy new year!

A/N2: This chapter has the whole Boggart scene, yes. It's one of my all time favorite of all seven books and no matter how I tweaked it, I couldn't find a way of only putting in Harry's altered reaction without the reading flow being awkward. There are also a few elements in the scene that I wanted in the narrative for the future.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Harry walked through the Hogwarts library clutching one of his most precious possessions, the compilation photo album of his parents and the extended Potter family, given to him as a gift at the end of first year. The memory of getting that album felt like a lifetime ago, the emotional resonance was bittersweet now. Floating in the air behind him and following obediently was a tall stack of thick hardcover books, their titles were embossed in gold, the one on top read– _Hogwarts Yearbook 1971._

He walked over to an empty study desk and took a seat, whilst the hovering pile of books settled on the desk. Harry picked up the first yearbook, opened it and his album, muttering to himself, "Let's see why you think I need to take this so personally, Malfoy."

As he began searching through the books for matching names and faces he reflected on the past few weeks of classes. Hogwarts classes had become an exercise of one grand deception on Harry's part. Each class presented its own unique set of hurdles for him to overcome.

Defense against the Dark Arts for third years felt like it should've been renamed Defense against Pests. He understood intellectually that Professor Lupin was playing catch-up with the shoddy teachers that had occupied the post in the past, but studying how to deal with nuisances like Red Caps and Kappas was mid second year material at the latest and Morgana could swat them out in her sleep. As a result Harry was finding his favorite subject moving into the same category as History of Magic – nap time. It was only sheer determination that kept him looking outwardly interested and enthusiastic. He was also getting a lot of practice at making the Professor believe he was studying the current subject matter that was being dealt with.

Harry was instead studying out of a various books, which he disguised with Illusion magic to look like the set third year textbook to anyone else looking. These books dealt with confronting the most dangerous adversary any wizard encountered; another wizard – whether 'dark' or someone who was simply an enemy. Now Morgana had learned this the hard way through experience and shed blood, but he had to make up his own mind, and was now studying the philosophy of relatively recent authors such as Clausewitz, Machiavelli (who had actually been an Assassin of some note within the Brotherhood) and others with regard to the subject of conflict – interpreting it to be useful for the current time period. He had to ferret out Templars in this world, not to mention there was the continuing problem of the disembodied spirit form of elder Tom Riddle aka Voldemort – who was no doubt out there and planning some new way of regaining power.

Potions on the other hand was giving Harry good exercise in emotional control and the Mental Arts, but even Saint Zachary, the Patron Saint of Peace, would be sorely tempted to hex Severus Snape into next week in the aftermath of Neville's Boggart – a story which travelled at the speed of gossip through the castle. Snape didn't find it funny of course and he was bullying Neville worse than ever. Morgana would've definitely bewitched Snape with a Long Lasting Contrary Jinx had she been in the classroom.

Harry could just imagine it. Snape would be looming over Neville and he would try to start his usual bullying, but what came out of his mouth would be something like: "Longbottom you are paragon of a brewer. This potion is the finest example of an Engorgement Solution I have ever had the pleasure to see," even though the cauldron was just a step away from exploding. At this point Snape would realize he had said the exact opposite of his intentions, and Harry would snap a picture of his face with Colin's camera – preserving the moment for posterity. Ah, to dream, but what Morgana would've done if Neville had been _her_ son didn't bare thinking about.

Divination with Professor Trelawney was both a disappointment and pointless. It would've been fine for someone with the high degree bloodline gift of Sight, but nowhere was any indication that scrying and information gathering magics would be taught. It turned out after questioning the Professor about it that the latter would be taught in the later years of Charms class. Scrying on the other hand was no longer taught at Hogwarts – in fact that knowledge had been restricted and was now solely held by the Department of Mysteries; a secretive division of the Ministry of Magic that studied 'the unanswered questions of life and magic'. That was the only reference Harry had found in the library, in the book '_The Rise of the Ministry- A Comprehensive Study of modern Wizarding government'_.

That book had really been an eye opener and thoroughly depressing. Harry had held out hope that the Ministry, due to the separation from the normal world, had been spared the extensive Templar societal molding, and could perhaps be used as a bastion to begin the process of breaking Abstergo's power over the whole world. It was not to be. The book read like a bloody magical version of a Templar how-to manual from the nineteenth century.

Care of Magical Creatures had become ridiculous. His loyalty and friendship to Hagrid aside, if the man let a recalcitrant spoiled child like Malfoy ruin his teaching style to such an extent that he taught the class useless but completely safe and boring lessons, such as how to care for Flobberworms then he didn't deserve the post or at least urgently needed to get a teaching seminar from McGonagall. Hagrid had let the mishap of the first action packed class shatter his confidence. He was supposed to be an _adult_ for Goddess' sake.

"Your classes as they are now, makes it even more likely that you'd be sacked from the job, Hagrid. Don't make Professor Dumbledore regret giving it to you." Harry had tried to convince him after yet another boring lesson of poking shredded lettuce down the Flobberworms tiny throats.

Hagrid coughed uncomfortably and only nodded, "I'a think about tha', 'arry. You run along now to yer next class," whether it would produce an improvement after they were done with Flobberworms only time would tell.

Harry blinked, his thoughts returning to the present as he found something. It was a group photo that had been taken about two years after his parent's had graduated from Hogwarts; four young men in a pub of sorts and continuously clinking tankards of beer and cheering at what looked to be a birthday party. There was Harry's father and a much younger though still tired looking Professor Remus Lupin, and two men that Harry only recognized from his Bleeding Effect on the Hogwarts Express. There were no name captions under the photo, so Harry turned to the Yearbook of seventy seven, comparing faces to the portraits of the graduates.

He felt alarm as he found his first match. The black haired one that was clanking his tankard so vigorously against James Potter's that it was spilling beer all over the table… was _Sirius Black_.

Comparing this Sirius Black to the one of today was nearly the difference between day and night. The Azkaban escapee in his wanted posters had an unkempt straggly graying hair, beard, with mad eyes, his face worn with stress lines. It was only as you looked at the face structure and eyes that you could find any similarity with this young happy version of the man. Harry paged back in the album and found yet more photos with Black in them right next to his father, going all the way back to their first year at Hogwarts – they had been _close_ friends. The equivalent of Harry's Ron or Hermione.

Harry sat back in his seat with a huff. He was now no stranger to treachery, but clearly Sirius Black becoming a Death Eater and joining Voldemort was the equivalent of Ron doing the same… bloody improbable even ridiculous, yet it had somehow happened to James Potter. Now if Black had been so close to the Potters – then turned traitor – the possible information that he had taken with him to the enemy… there was too many possibilities, but perhaps clues could be found in the periodicals in the later years of the Reign of Terror.

Harry now looked at the last face in the photo, the dark-blonde haired young man – who had clearly let himself go in the two years since Hogwarts ended as he was now distinctly chubby. His eyes were nervous and... haunted, contrary to his smile at the happy occasion. Harry found a match at the latter end of the graduates… Peter Pettigrew.

A new name, that would have to be researched it seemed. He drew his wand and held its tip to his forehead, putting the visible image of the words Peter Pettigrew in front of his mind's eye and mentally incanting, '_Sócn_.' He pulled away the tip and a small globe of light emitted from it and zipped through the air towards the books and hovered a foot above the table before it turned into a ghostly lidless eye. Harry took the yearbook opened it to the first page and began turning the pages under the magic eye.

It was an old spell called The Eye of Searoar that was designed to visibly seek out whatever the wizard could picture in his mind. With it Morgana had found the thief who had once stolen her horse, by letting the Eye find the horse's specific pattern coloration. It lent itself very well to runic character recognition therefore, but you could shield yourself from its gaze quite easily. If you saw an Eye zooming towards you, you could just cast a simple Illusion or turn yourself invisible, and its travelling range only stretched to the visible horizon from the caster.

The Eye suddenly dipped to a page briefly and Harry noted it was just the academic results of the Hogwarts First Years. Peter's marks were scraping passes and average at best. Harry shrugged and continued turning, finding no further references to that name in that Yearbook. It was the same for all the other years of Pettigrew's schooling. He had taken part in no clubs, no Quidditch, no awards, nothing that stood out, except that his Transfiguration marks steadily rose through the years until he graduated with an Outstanding in his seventh year NEWTs.

Harry dispelled the Eye with a sigh and looked at his watch. He was putting the last touches on his first Hidden Blade after finding and fixing a few faults that had crept into the production process despite his attention to detail. Only then could he begin working on the initial enchantments he had planned for it. The most important of which was disillusionment and space compression – as even if the Blade Gauntlets were under his sleeves it would stand out like a cat hiding under a blanket. Disillusion would visibly hide the Blades while the other enchantment would compress the internal space to the point where only slightly loose sleeves were necessary.

He gestured with his wand and all the yearbooks piled themselves neatly on top each other. The periodical search would have to wait for another day as it was nearing curfew and tomorrow was the start of October. The beginning of Quidditch season was fast approaching and with it the insane practices of Captain Oliver Wood.

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Oliver Wood was a burly seventeen year old, now in his final year at Hogwarts. There was a quiet sort of desperation in his voice as he addressed his six fellow team members in the changing rooms on the edge of the darkening Quidditch pitch.

"This is our last chance – _my_ last chance to win the Quidditch Cup," he told them, pacing up and down in front of them. "I'll be leaving at the end of this year. I'll never have another shot at it. Gryffindor haven't won for seven years now, okay, so we've had the worst luck in the world – injuries and then the tournament getting called off last year." Wood swallowed as the memory visibly brought a lump to his throat. "But we also know we've got the _best team in the school_," punching his fist into his other hand with a manic glint in his eyes.

"We've got three _superb_ Chasers." Wood pointed at Alicia Spinnet, Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell. Harry eyed the three older girls and couldn't help be a slight bit appreciative of the latter two's attractiveness, not to sell Alicia short though – it was just his preferences at work.

"We've got two _unbeatable_ Beaters."

"Stop it, Oliver, you're embarrassing us," said Fred and George Weasley together, pretending to blush.

"And we've got a Seeker who has never failed to win us a match!" Wood rumbled, glaring at Harry with a kind of furious pride. "And me," he added as an afterthought.

"We think you're very good too, Oliver," said George.

"Cracking keeper," said Fred.

"The point is," Wood went on, resuming his pacing, "the Quidditch Cup should've had our name on it these last two years. Ever since Harry joined the team, I've thought the thing was in the bag. But we haven't got it, and this year's the last chance we'll get to finally see our name as a team on the thing…"

Wood spoke so dejectedly that even Fred and George looked sympathetic.

"Oliver, this year's our year," said Fred.

"We'll do it, Oliver!" said Angelina.

"Consider it done," Harry grinned.

Full of this boundless determination, the team started training sessions, three evenings a week. It was a pain that he had less time now for his training in the Hideout, and it further delayed the completion of the Blade, but it was finally completely done and he was now wearing it around his left arm every day to get used to the weight there and he could finally integrate its presence into his combat training. Work was now proceeding on the Blade for the right arm and proved to be going much faster now that he had the experience of building the first one under his belt.

The weather was getting colder and wetter, the nights darker, but no amount of rain, mud or wind would tarnish his vision of finally getting that Cup. He did a bit of extra research into the rules of Quidditch and brought a spell to the attention of the team. A spell that was legal for a wizard to perform on themselves during a game called the Impervious – which would shield the head from particulates such as rain and dust. Quidditch was also something that was distinctly unrelated to anything his Ancestor had experienced in her life, and so Harry cherished it thoroughly and avoided thinking about what she would've thought about the sport.

Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room one evening after training, cold and stiff, (he didn't magic the effect away as he wanted to harden his body to the elements) but pleased with the way practice had gone, to find the room buzzing excitedly.

"What's going on?" he asked Ron and Hermione, who were sitting in the two best chairs by the fireside and completing star charts for astronomy.

"First Hogsmeade weekend," said Ron, pointing at a large piece of parchment that had appeared on the old notice board. "End of October. Halloween."

"Excellent," said Fred, who had followed Harry through the portrait hole. "I need to visit Zonko's. I'm nearly out of Stink Pellets."

"You wouldn't be up to getting me a few things in the town, would you?" Harry asked lightly.

Fred frowned, "Aren't you going?"

"No, couldn't get permission form signed given what happened this summer."

"That's a bummer that is," Fred sympathized looking thoughtful but then he nodded. "No problem Harry, just give me a list and the money before we leave."

"Thanks," Harry sat in chair beside Ron, to warm himself up and stared into the crackling fire.

"Harry, you should go to McGonagall and ask if you can go, the next Hogsmeade weekend might not be for ages," said Ron earnestly.

"No," Harry shook his head. "I already know how that conversation will go. 'Sorry, Potter, the rules say – no form, no Hogsmeade.'" He smiled at how he managed to push his voice into imitating their Head of House's voice. "Besides given what I've seen from the pictures of Hogsmeade, it'll be all too easy to set up an ambush in all those nooks, crannies and narrow alleyways."

"Black's not fool enough to try anything in Hogsmeade, Harry," Ron shook his head.

"Most would think so and therefore it's the perfect place to attack me," Harry retorted with finality and pulled his bag closer, as he had yet to do his own star chart.

"You can copy mine if you like," Ron said, labeling his last star with a flourish and shoving the chart forwards.

Harry politely pushed it back, "No thanks." He also ignored the strange looks he got for that and got to work.

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It was the evening before Halloween and for the first time he began to feel somewhat like an Assassin, wearing his finished dual Hidden Blades. Morgana had been what would be called a Master Assassin, or as it was called in the sixth century a Grand Nephili, though she never rose to command the British Sect she was nevertheless quite influential. Harry pessimistically rated himself at best an _Assistente _or Apprentice, in his thirteen year old body with the skills he had conditioned his muscle memory for. He could only rise to the next rank, _Milite_, when he could throw daggers with reliable accuracy. Though adding magic to the mix he could perform reliably at a fully fledged Assassin rank.

Harry twitched muscles in both his arms, spread his hands out and splayed his fingers. Two razor sharp double edged blades shot out from under his palms with a _snickt_ sound. He closed his fists and they retracted into their housings in the bracers. He did it again, and again, continuing to practice until his forearm muscles were burning from exertion. He turned a small switch on the right bracer and twitched only the right arm muscle – his holly wand shot out and he misjudged the grab. The wand clattered to the floor a few feet away.

"Bollocks," he muttered and picked it up, slotting it back into the bracer. He twitched the arm again and this time managed to catch it so that it slapped into his palm, ready to use. He slotted it back again, deciding to try an experiment.

He pointed his palm towards his newly built target dummy that was an accurate representation of a human as he could fashion. He concentrated hard and thought '_Depulso_!' The Banishing spell that was emitted was not half of what it should've been and the dummy was only given a moderate push backward. "Connection to the wand not old or strong enough," he sighed with disappointment.

Remote Casting was a trick a Nephili could use to place sufficiently bonded foci away from you and the caster would be able to fire a spell at an opponent's back or in the case of a narrow alleyway, ambush someone walking down it without bottling yourself in the same alley. It was for that reason that Nephili always had more than one type of foci on their bodies at all times – ranging from crystals, wooden charms, amulets, rings, anything that was traditionally worn on the body and which could be aimed. It generally took four years for the bonding process to form to a useful strength.

When his bond to the wand was strong enough, and in the right bracer, he would be able to make it look like he was casting spells from the palm of his hand. It would be an impressive trick to pull off, giving the illusion of wandless magic.

Harry practiced catching the wand until he was satisfied he wouldn't disarm himself rather stupidly. Then raised it towards the new dummy and animated it.

It sprang to life, pulling itself off its stand while Harry returned his wand into its new place.

The dummy settled itself into a combat stance across from Harry.

"Well, my new friend," Harry grinned falling into a horse stance with his right side presented to the dummy, arms raised and ready. "Come at me."

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It was Halloween morning, and Harry awoke with a painful wince. The half-strong Cushioning charms layered on the dummy hadn't prevented Harry from getting bruises galore, not to mention stiff muscles and only a generalized Healing Potion that he'd brewed prevented him from looking like he'd been beaten black and blue today. The dummy had been animated with knowledge of what Morgana was capable of in the martial arts and the modern unarmed arts of a Master Assassin and performed accordingly, only stopping when Harry ordered it or when it ran out of energy powering the animation.

His stomach growled in hunger and he hurried down to breakfast.

"We'll bring you lots of sweets from Honeydukes," said Hermione, looking at him encouragingly, but there was an evaluating glint in her eyes.

"Yeah, loads," said Ron.

"Don't worry about me, I've got more than enough to occupy my time," said Harry off-handedly. "I'll see you both at feast. Have a good time."

He accompanied them to the Entrance Hall, where Filch, the caretaker, was standing inside the front doors, checking off names against a long list, peering suspiciously into every face, and making sure no one was sneaking out who shouldn't be going. Harry found Fred and George in the line – and handed them a small pouch holding the list of things he needed and the required amount of Galleons.

"It's all explained in the note, if you can't find an item, just ask the shopkeeper for where it might be acquired."

"Why are you telling them to do it?" Ron asked. "We could get you…"

"I don't want spoil your first Hogsmeade experience with a shopping list of stuff to get," Harry interrupted.

"Thanks Harry," Hermione smiled at his thoughtfulness.

"Staying here, Potter?" shouted Malfoy from another end of the line, where he was standing with Crabbe and Goyle.

Harry ignored responding to him and made his solitary way up the marble staircase, through the deserted corridors and into the Library. He made his way into the Periodicals archive and summoned the next part of the thousand odd Daily Prophets that he was scrutinizing to for anything related to Peter Pettigrew and Sirius Black, and even if he didn't find anything, he was constructing a rather fascinating timeline of the war against Voldemort.

It was also more than alarming. The Ministry in the early stages treated it as business as normal, merely doing what a normal person would call police versus terrorist actions. Aurors would fight and capture and rarely kill; only those in Voldemort's camp had no compunctions to return the courtesy. Disappearances, kidnapping, coercion, murders, home assaults, mundane huntings, arson, looting and rapine was the most serious crimes. It finally became a fully fledged guerilla war when a new Head of Magical Law Enforcement named Bartemous Crouch came to power and who authorized the use of the Unforgivables Curses against suspects, that the tide shifted somewhat.

It was too little too late though, the advantage of numbers, intelligence and initiative was on Voldemort's side and the Ministry and a mysterious vigilante group only vaguely referenced as 'The Order' was fighting a steadily losing war when a Killing Curse bounced off Harry's forehead thanks to Lily Potter using her own death to fuel an ancient magic worthy of the gods of old.

With Voldemort's power broken, the branched chains of bewitched followers across the country were released and the numbers, intelligence and consequently the initiative swung like a pendulum back to the Ministry's side. A year of 'mop-up action' followed, with some Death Eaters getting thrown in Azkaban, others like Lucius Malfoy bribing his way out or others getting off due to lack of evidence or minor technicalities, and probably a whole bunch who just faded into obscurity.

Then Harry found Peter Pettigrew – and he was dead according to the article, killed by Sirius Black when they dueled in the middle of a street in London in broad daylight. Pettigrew had confronted the now turncoat Black and the duel killed thirteen bystanders and reduced Pettigrew so that a bloody finger was all that remained of him. Harry blinked – how would a wizard go about managing that? A body was a messy thing, especially one that had been subjected to violence of any sort. You could use a Vanishing Charm on the remains, and the finger was probably blown out of Black's line of sight. But why would he Vanish the remains at that point? It was contrary to what a terrorist would do – erasing evidence of what he could do to anyone who challenged him. Black was captured when he was surrounded by both Aurors and wizards from the Department of Magical Catastrophes just as the duel concluded. Peter Pettigrew was awarded the Order of Merlin 1st Class posthumously for his bravery.

He pulled off his glasses and rubbed his eyes wearily, before spotting a familiar name in the pile of newspapers.

It was an article near the end of 1982 and explained something relevant to one of his classmates, Neville Longbottom. He knew that Neville lived with his grandmother, now he knew why and in a way it was way worse than Harry's circumstances as an orphan. Frank and Alice Longbottom had been Aurors, very popular in the community, and could count themselves as some of few wizards to have fought with Voldemort personally and survived. They were captured by Death Eater remnants when everyone thought that things were becoming safe again. The reason for their capture in the article was speculative – the Death Eaters were apparently deranged and mad, thinking that Voldemort was still out there… '_So no one knows that Voldemort isn't truly dead_,' Harry thought.

They tortured the Longbottoms with the forbidden torture curse known as the Cruciatus to the extent that it drove them into insanity and were even now at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries in Ward 49.

Harry felt his heart go out to Neville at this point. What a burden it must be to live knowing your parents are still alive, yet can't even recognize you or are banging their heads against a wall in a padded cell.

Feeling thoroughly gloomy after delving into this dark history Harry organized the newspapers and returned them. He headed back to his Hideout for some cathartic bashing against the practice dummy, imagining Voldemort's face on it.

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"There you go," said Ron. "We got as much as we could carry."

A shower of brilliantly colored sweets fell on Harry's lap. Harry closed the Ancient Runes book that the third years were currently studying in that subject and eyed the confections with interest. It was dusk, Ron and Hermione had just turned up in the common room, pink-faced from the cold wind and looking as though they'd had the time of their lives.

"Thanks," said Harry, picking up a packet of tiny black Pepper Imps. "What's Hogsmeade like?"

So followed a recounting that left Harry sorely tempted to find a way to leave Hogwarts and return undetected. Dervish and Banges, the wizard equipment shop (Fred and George would've gotten quite a few items on the shopping list from there). Zonko's Joke shop, into the Three Broomsticks for foaming mugs of hot Butterbeer and many others.

"The post office, Harry! About two hundred owls, all sitting on shelves, all color coded depending on how fast you want your letter to get there."

"Honeydukes have a new kind of fudge, they were giving out free samples, there's a bit, look…"

"We think we saw an ogre, honestly, they get all sorts at the Three Broomsticks…" (Sounded like good spot for information gathering and meeting undetected in a crowd.)

"What did you do?" said Hermione at last, looking anxious. "Did you get any work done?"

Harry nodded, "I had a productive day. Since Divination and Care of Magical Creatures is so…"

"Unproductive?" Hermione suggested wryly with a small smile on her face.

"Yes, that I see what I'm missing in Arithmancy and Runes," he tapped the book on his lap.

"Really?" Hermione glowed with delight and she ploughed ahead into a discussion of the various runic languages that left Harry somewhat amazed at her knowledge on the subject after only a month of study. Of course their conversation left Ron floundering.

"Before we get too sidetracked," Harry interrupted her, "I also did a bit of research on Sirius Black."

Ron and Hermione looked each other with wide eyes. "And?"

He told them all about what he had discovered, but leaving the personal angle to the case out. He was going to arrange for an appointment with a certain Defense Professor for a nice chat first. Ron and Hermione looked certainly frightened that there were wizards out there capable of killing thirteen people with a single curse and leave their targets with only a finger's worth of remains. He considered telling them about Neville – but that was none of their business really. If Neville wasn't talking about his heroic parents then Harry wouldn't blab about it either. It had revealed the boy as a kindred spirit to Harry though and perhaps someone to spend more time with.

Hermione checked her watch. "We'd better go down, you know, the feast'll be starting in five minutes."

The Great Hall had been decorated splendidly; hundreds and hundreds of candle filled pumpkins, a cloud of fluttering live bats and many flaming orange streamers, which were swimming lazily across the stormy ceiling like brilliant water snakes. The food was delicious; even Hermione and Ron, who were full to bursting with sweets already, managed second helpings of everything. The revelations of the research of the day had Harry glancing at the staff table. Professor Lupin looked cheerful and as well as he ever did; talking animatedly to tiny little Professor Flitwick.

Harry wanted to kick himself for forgetting – he had realized in the afternoon that the Hogsmeade excursion would be another ideal opportunity for an infiltration of the castle. He opened his eyes in Eagle Vision and took a good long look around the Great Hall. The place was aglow with magic, swimming with the cheer and good spirits of the students, even among the Slytherins – not even a single red aura was present there. It was a sea of peaceful blue and other happy colors, but a glance at the staff table showed the only difference.

Harry stiffened briefly in a surprise he could not contain. Professor Lupin had a cheerful blue aura, but radiating out were barbs and spikes of white power. Morgana had dealt with the owners of such an aura many times – usually having to slaughter them during the nights of the full moon. It had been nothing personal, as it was the only way to save lives and root out the affliction of the most pervasive curse known to the world at the time – the Curse of the Werewolf.

How long had Professor Lupin been a werewolf? The Curse was very extensive and he judged both by the size of those white barbs in the aura – that it was probably a childhood bite. Did Dumbledore know? Probably, almost certainly. Had the proper precautions been taken? By the fact that a full moon had passed a week or so ago and no one was found mauled to death in the school – yes. Harry was surprised though at how little scarring Lupin had. Most responsible werewolves who lock themselves up, ended up with terrible scars as the wolf tore at their prisons to escape and clawed themselves to the point of severe injury that carried over to the human host. Perhaps new methods of restraining or treating werewolves had been invented – his inner-Morgana wanted to know…

The feast finished with an entertainment provided by the Hogwarts ghosts. They popped out of the walls and tables to do a spot of formation gliding; Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, had a great success with a re-enactment of his own botched beheading.

Harry, Ron and Hermione followed the rest of the Gryffindors along the usual path to Gryffindor tower, but when they reached the corridor which ended with the portrait of the Fat Lady, they found it jammed with students.

"Why isn't anyone going in?" said Ron curiously.

Harry peered over the heads in front of him. The portrait was closed and the students in the front weren't giving the password for some reason. Harry whirled around and put his back to a wall, Eagle Vision and other senses straining – he even tried to listen for the Death Whispers – a strong precognitive instinct when someone with killing intent neared the Assassin. Nothing.

"Harry? Are you okay?" Hermione asked in concern.

"Let me through, please," came Percy's voice, and he came bustling importantly through the crowd. "What's the hold-up here? You can't have all forgotten the password, excuse me I'm Head Boy…"

And then a silence fell over the crowd, from the front first and sweeping back. Harry watched the alarmed auras of those there, spiking with confusion and fear. "Somebody get Professor Dumbledore. Quick," Percy called with a sharp voice.

"What's going on?" said Ginny, who had just arrived.

Then Professor Dumbledore was there, sweeping towards the portrait; the Gryffindors had to squeeze together to let him through, and Harry slinked closer with Ron and Hermione in tow along the wall to see what the trouble was.

"Oh my," Hermione exclaimed and grabbed Harry's arm.

The Fat Lady was gone from her portrait, which had been slashed so viciously with a sharp blade that strips of canvas littered the floor; sections of it had been torn away completely.

Dumbledore took one quick look at the ruined painting and turned with somber eyes to see McGonagall, Lupin and Snape hurrying towards him. "We need to find her," he said, "Professor McGonagall, please go to Mr Filch at once and tell him to search every painting in the castle for the Fat Lady."

"You'll be lucky!" said a cackling voice.

Peeves the Poltergeist, bobbed over the crowd and looking delighted, as he always did, at the sight of wreckage or worry. Harry really wondered why no one bothered to exorcise the dratted thing. Then again with the combined magic and the mischief of generations of children in one place – exorcising the poltergeist would've been the equivalent of trying pull apart hardened super-glue.

"What do you mean, Peeves?" said Dumbledore calmly, and Peeves grin faded a little. He might be impossible to dislodge from Hogwarts, but he wasn't invulnerable as Professor Lupin showed, any decent wizard with some preparation could make Peeves' life hell, Dumbledore doubly so. The poltergeist adopted a sly voice.

"Ashamed, Your Headship, sir. Doesn't want to be seen. She's a horrible mess. Saw her running through a landscape up on the fourth floor, sir, dodging between the trees. Crying something dreadful," he said happily. "Poor thing," he said in a totally unconvincing manner.

"Did she say who did it?"

"Oh yes, Professorhead," said Peeves, with the air of someone holding a terrible secret. "He got very angry when she wouldn't let him in." The poltergeist flipped over, grinning at Dumbledore from between his own legs. "Nasty temper he's got, that Sirius Black."

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**Kynges Towne**

**Isle of Wight**

**British Isles**

**567 AD**

"Repent! Repent from your worship of falsehood! Repent and save your souls from the damnation of fire! Accept that there is only one God and pledge yourself to Him! Save…"

Morgana ignored the Herald's speech from that point on and surveyed the crowd gathered in the central town square. The tension, anger and fear was like a lidded boiling pot that had not yet reached the point where it overflowed. No, it was more like a dry field that only required but someone to strike a flint or lightning to strike before a towering inferno engulfed the Isle. The flames brought by men who peddled Christianity as both their source of righteousness and an excuse to exercise their cruelty. The only reason the crowd was here at all was because the leader of this attempt to convert the Isle from Druidism had threatened to set loose the leash on his soldiers and knights. '_Knights, ha! Hardly worth the title – a thug in plate armor and broadsword does not a knight make,_' she thought viciously.

She was at the edge of the square, leaning against a building, hooded and cloaked, with a plain dress making sure she would not stand out from a commoner of her age. She clutched her stave reflexively within the cloak's confines and squinted at the tall blond haired and bearded man that towered over the herald. He wore chain mail mostly, with a thin colored shirt over it embroidered with the standard of Mercia.

This was King Wulfhere.

Morgana was impressed that he had the fortitude to show himself in such a manner. Though he was flanked by knights, it would mean little if the town decided to use its concentrated numbers here to simply mob them down and trample them to death, though that would unleash the thousand strong well equipped and armored army encamped a few miles away onto the Isle to unleash death and destruction.

King Stuf the nominal ruler of the Isle was cowering as far west as he could, whilst still remaining on the Isle. Morgana idly wondered how long it would take the aging King to flee to the mainland with his paltry collection of ill-equipped forces and appeal to Uther for intervention – it would be a wasted trip. Skirmishes and disputes between the lower kings of the British Isles was an everyday occurrence – for every little reason or slight of honor imaginable, as long as it was kept to battles between mere companies of men, Uther would turn a blind eye. Such battles kept the overall fighting force available to the entire kingdom blooded and experienced – as there were many unfriendly foreign eyes looking towards Britain and invasion was ever a possibility from mainland Europe and the Vikings were a persistent threat with their looting pillaging raids.

Wulfhere could honestly tell Uther that he was there to convert the Isle finally to the 'official' religion of the Kingdom; Christianity. Uther would have no choice but to accept what happened and no punishment would go to Mercia or its king.

"…look at your false prophets, who hold you in chains of sin. There they are tied to the stake and ready to burn. Their gods and…" the herald laughed, "goddesses has forsaken them, because the one true God has set foot on the Isle! "

Morgana's eyes turned to see the 'Druid Nologaln' and a few of his underlings securely tied to the stake and their heads hung in despair. She struggled to maintain her composure and not laugh out loud. It had to have been the easiest thing for Nologaln to enchant illusions and transform the denizens of Kygnes' jail to resemble them and dress them in druidic robes. When Wulfhere's troops had streamed into the forest to seize the druids it had been even simpler to misdirect them into only finding the fake druids.

The actual druids would sit out this forceful conversion in hiding and wait until the foreign king left. It was up to the people of the Isle to make the choice now whether to keep the Old Ways or convert. Most would do the smart thing and do so merely in word, not in thought or heart. There was danger on this path though.

An idle soldier or knight was more dangerous than any other. They would descend onto the towns and villages, demand entertainment and spend coin, but it was inevitable that they would get drunk – and begin demanding other things that the people would not be willing to give, such as their daughters or cause fights and ransack businesses. They would prey on the local food supply and strain it to the breaking point – Morgana had already seen them start to chop down trees from the forest the druids considered sacred to fuel their camp fires.

"…watch as they are burned and nothing stops us!"

A lit torch was flung into the pyres under each stake and the kindling caught fire immediately. It wasn't long before tongues of flame began licking at the feet of the 'druids', who started to scream anew.

Morgana scowled – criminals yes, but the people didn't know that. Their hearts were being filled with despair, their minds twisted – and when the army settled like a plague on the town…

It was an ideal opportunity, she recognized. She could practice and further develop her power on the army of Wulfhere as a rehearsal of her ultimate goal. The challenge of it would be for her hand to remain undetected – lest the invading king realize that there were more druids on the Isle. It had to be written off as mere ill fate and accident, perhaps even work a bit of chaos in the retinue and followers of Wulfhere's camp to get them fighting each other.

Morgana smirked walking away from the square. It was time to see the druids and what further knowledge and power they could offer.

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	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

The events following Sirius Black's successful infiltration of Hogwarts was enough to seriously test Harry's resolve not to kill the man on sight. It was a serious wakeup call to the teachers and they had seemingly come to the collective decision that Harry had to always remain in their sight at all times when he was out of Gryffindor Tower. The teachers found all sorts of excuses to walk along corridors with him, ranging from plausible to the outright ridiculous. It was a serious exercise of his patience and control not to send them looks of disdain every time it happened. Percy Weasley, most likely acting on this mother's orders was also following Harry around outside of class hours like a pompous guard dog. This obviously put a serious crimp in his ability to even get to his Hideout undetected – though he was working on a solution, he wouldn't be worth his salt as a Nephili Assassin if he couldn't fool a seventeen year old.

If that wasn't enough for his frustration levels, the Fat Lady's canvas had been taken off the wall and replaced with the portrait of Sir Cadogan and his stupid pony. No one in Gryffindor was happy about this change at all, since the knight kept on making up ridiculously complicated passwords. No amount of complaining would fix the situation because no other painting was brave enough to step up after what had happened to the Fat Lady.

Then a long overdue brainwave finally hit the officialdom when Harry was called into Professor McGonagall's office to explain what he already knew.

"There's no point in hiding it from you Potter," she said in a very serious voice. "I know this will come as a shock…"

"Yes, yes," Harry waved her explanation off, "I know he's supposedly after me personally."

McGonagall was taken aback, "How…"

Harry frowned, his eyes sharp and it was a measure of his irritation that he interrupted her and said, "I am not without people in my corner, one of who has enough common sense to see that me wallowing in ignorance simply to spare my 'delicate feelings', is not an acceptable state of affairs." The Professor's eyes narrowed and her lips thinned in response. Harry sighed, "I apologize, the charade of the past few days and lack of privacy is…"

McGonagall nodded in acceptance, "I understand. Realize that it is all being done for your safety. It is also why I don't think that it's a good idea for you to be practicing Quidditch in the evenings. Out on the pitch with only your team members…"

It was hard not to snap at his Head of House, "This situation has mucked with my school life enough, Professor. The first match of the year is this Saturday and you want me to go in there not having trained to a hundred percent?" Harry let a small teasing smile adorn his face, "How long has it been since that Cup was in this office again?"

McGonagall regarded him with a brief moment of a glare but there was no force behind it and eventually her eyes held a resigned amusement, "Quite right, it's been too long. Nevertheless Potter, I'd feel better if there was at least a teacher present. I'll ask Madam Hooch to oversee your training sessions."

"Might I also suggest she be given a Distress Ward to wear."

McGonagall raised her eyebrows a look of surprise on her face, "Interesting idea, Mr Potter."

"It doesn't help me or her for that matter if she's fighting Black or any distraction he can conjure to keep her busy and then he attacks me in the meantime," Harry explained. "This way if she's attacked, the caster of the ward, be that you or Professors Dumbledore or Flitwick, will know instantly. The Hogwarts Wards are too generalized for a fast response and as Dumbledore is so busy…"

"Twenty points to Gryffindor," she declared. "I see somebody has been studying ahead…"

Harry merely shrugged and gave her an enigmatic smile.

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The day before the first Quidditch match of the season – which thanks to some rather blatant yet underhanded maneuvering from Draco Malfoy and Professor Snape, playing up on the supposedly injured arm – was now Gryffindor against Hufflepuff instead of the usual Slytherin season opener, found a rather distinctly harassed Harry walking into the Defense classroom. Oliver Wood was within an inch of getting a fist in the face as he kept intercepting Harry between classes and giving him tips to deal with the Hufflepuff team with its new and apparently very good Seeker, Cedric Diggory. It was all Harry could do to keep from being late for his classes, forcing Oliver to run-walk alongside him as he babbled advice in Harry's ear.

Harry took his usual seat near the front with Hermione beside him and Ron taking the seat behind. When the bell rung they all looked to the brief staircase that led the Defense Professor's adjoining office for Lupin to appear, but he was seemingly absent. The class was surprised and startled when the main doors to the classroom slammed open and Professor Snape entered in his usual menacing glide with billowing robes.

Harry had been really tempted to reveal that the whole menacing air and behavior of those robes was but a few simple charms that could be applied within seconds, combined with a bit of practice at walking and you had achieved an effect that would intimidate the ignorant rather thoroughly. Morgana had rather enjoyed doing the same when she had to put someone in the Royal Court in their place or do the intimidation routine.

"Professor Lupin has taken ill and I am here as substitute," Snape declared without fanfare as he approached the lectern, slammed the Defense textbook onto it and whirled around. He glared at the class, as if daring them to respond. "He has not left any records of the topics you have covered so far…"

"Please, sir, we've done Boggarts, Red Caps, Kappas and Grindylows," said Hermione quickly, "and we're just about to start…"

"Be quiet," said Snape coldly. "I did not ask for information. I was merely commenting on Professor Lupin's lack of organization."

"He the best Defense teacher we've ever had," said Dean Thomas boldly, and there was a murmur of agreement from the rest of the class.

"You are easily satisfied. Lupin is hardly over-taxing you – I would expect first years to be able to deal with Red Caps and Grindylows. Today we shall discuss…"

Snape flicked through the textbook, to the very back chapter. Harry narrowed his eyes as he recalled what was in last parts of the book and felt like slapping his forehead. Of course, Professor Lupin was ill, considering the moon's current phase.

"… werewolves," said Snape. What was Snape playing at? It certainly wasn't a coincidence that the one topic he chooses to deal with was the very condition that afflicted Professor Lupin. Was he hoping that any of the students would make the connection as they studied the chapter?

"But sir," said Hermione, seemingly unable to restrain herself, "we're not supposed to do werewolves yet, we're due to start Hinkypunks..."

"Miss Granger," said Snape, in a deathly calm voice, "I was under the impression that I am the teacher of this class, not you. And I am telling you all to turn to page three hundred and ninety four. Now!"

Harry opened his disguised textbook to give the impression that he was doing as asked.

"Which of you can tell me how we distinguish between the werewolf and the true wolf?" said Snape.

'_Oh yes, classic Snape, ask us a question we couldn't possibly know yet, then deride us for being dunderheads, I suppose it's the only way he gets his jollies,'_ Harry thought. _'Goddess knows, there's no way a witch would come within ten feet of him with the way he usually acts and dresses.'_ Harry didn't feel tempted at all to answer, which would just give Snape excuse to focus on him. It was inevitable though, as the rising of the sun, that Hermione's hand shot up.

"Anyone?" Snape said, ignoring Hermione. His smile twisted. "Are you telling me that Professor Lupin hasn't even taught you the basic distinction between…"

"We told you," said Parvati suddenly, "we haven't got as far as werewolves yet…"

"Silence!" he snarled. "Well, well, well, I'd never thought I'd meet a third year class who couldn't even recognize a werewolf when they saw one. I shall make a point of informing Professor Dumbledore how behind you all are…"

"Please sir," said Hermione, whose hand was still in the air, "there werewolf differs from the true wolf in several ways. The snout of the werewolf…"

"That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, Miss Granger," said Snape coolly. "Five points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all."

Hermione went very red, put down her hand and stared at the floor with her eyes full of tears. The entire class was glaring at Snape with loathing. Harry was entirely tempted to hex Snape into next week with an entire repertoire of Morgana's favorites. Never mind that Hermione _was _actually a know-it-all, and was told so by everyone at least once in the past. But it was only Snape that could twist it into a true malicious insult and stamp on her spirit and heart.

Ron, who called Hermione a know-it-all at least twice a week, couldn't contain his own indignation and said loudly, "You asked a question and she knows the answer! Why ask if you don't want to be told?"

Harry inwardly winced as did the whole class. That was going too far.

"Detention, Weasley," Snape said silkily. "And if I ever hear you criticize the way I teach a class again, you will be very sorry indeed."

The rest of the lesson passed without a further sound from the students. Harry had to keep a permanent illusion over his book so Snape would not figure out it was actually an old Seventh Year textbook from the nineteen forties. Harry could thankfully recall a lot about werewolves, enough to nearly write a small book on the subject. Snape prowled up and down the rows of desks, examining the work of the students occasionally.

"Very poorly explained… that is incorrect, the Kappa is more commonly found in Mongolia… Professor Lupin gave this an eighty percent? I wouldn't have given it thirty…"

The homework that was assigned pretty much made Harry realize that Snape wanted someone to realize Lupin's condition, and considering the stigma it had in the wizarding world and the loathing that he had openly displayed the first day of term…

"You will each write an essay, to be handed in to me, on the ways you recognize and kill werewolves. I want two rolls of parchment on the subject, and I want them by Monday morning. It is time somebody took this class in hand. Weasley, stay behind, we need to arrange your detention."

On the other hand, there was a werewolf in the castle, whatever protections Dumbledore and Lupin had come up with could fail, and if a student knew how to kill a werewolf in defense… well it sucked for Lupin, but better than being mauled to death. So Snape, perhaps from his own point of view, was protecting the students by arming them with this knowledge. Too bad he had to be such a git about it.

Harry and Hermione left the room with the rest of the class, and the two waited until they were well away from the Defense classroom before Harry evenly asked, "Are you okay, Hermione? Snape was rather ghastly in there."

She sighed, "I'm okay, he was right though and I just wanted to help... he's the teacher and I'm the student. But I really hope Professor Lupin gets better soon, I can't imagine having Professor Snape for both Potions and Defense."

Ron caught up with them a few minutes later in a towering rage.

"D'you know what that arsehole is making me do? I've got to scrub out the bedpans in the hospital wing. Without magic!" Ron's fists were clenched, breathing deeply. "Why couldn't Black have hidden in Snape's office, eh? He could have finished him off for us!"

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The heavens were dark and gray. Thunder rumbled through the air and rain pelted the perfectly green lawn of the Quidditch pitch, whose drainage was already overwhelmed by the volume of water falling from the sky. It said something about the popularity of the sport that the whole school was in the stands dressed in as warm clothing as possible with umbrellas, rain coats and for those capable enough, sustained deflection charms. Through the air space above the pitch fourteen broomriders zoomed through the rain, with such speed that their passage left long wakes of displaced water.

Visibility was so poor with the low clouds that had settled over the area that it wasn't just rain hitting the riders, but the misty vapor of the cloud itself that condensed on their skin. Harry was thoroughly soaked and the charms he had applied to himself for warmth had been utterly overwhelmed – only the _Imperivous_ and deflection charms on his glasses held and he had to make liberal use of Eagle Vision to get any sort of idea where anything was. The wind also drowned out any commentary from Lee Jordan, as well as making it insanely hard to hold a straight course.

Eagle Vision did not distinguish itself well for color recognition, unless you were looking at sources of magical power. Harry could see thirteen other wizards on brooms, but could not distinguish which were Hufflepuff and which were Gryffindor, except for the respective Keepers. He could spot the Bludgers coming thankfully, as they were like bright blue bulbs of light zooming about in Eagle Vision, but the Snitch was such a small source of Power, that it was illusive as ever.

Harry had only spotted his opposite number, Cedric Diggory, twice, and he also seemed to be using a Deflective charm on his face to keep water out of it. It allowed Harry to get a glimpse of the sixth's years flying for a while and he was impressed and excited – a worthy opponent at last. The game continued for ten minutes, then twenty, and finally thirty minutes before a fifteenth broomrider powered straight through centre of the field and Harry deduced it had to be Madam Hooch. He finally very vaguely heard her whistle as he passed nearby and changed course to the stands before landing. The rest of the team soon followed.

"I called for a time out!" Wood shouted at his team. "Come on, under here." They huddled under a large umbrella that had been set up.

"Score?" Harry asked as he passed his wand over his body. The water in his clothes and hair vanished and for a moment he felt as if he was standing in front of a roaring hot fireplace. He gave another sweeping gesture of his wand at his teammates and they were all treated to a similar experience.

"Oh, that's wonderful, thanks Harry," Alicia commented.

"We're fifty points up," said Wood, rubbing his fingers through his dried hair. "But unless we get the Snitch soon, we'll be playing into the night."

"It's hard enough to get the thing on a normal day, in this weather I might as well be looking for a needle in haystack that's being flung about in a tornado. It's going to be a matter of luck whether Diggory or I spot it, let alone catch it."

"I don't care what you have to do, Harry – even if we have to concede a penalty or two, get – that – Snitch."

So with a second wind the Gryffindor team took to the skies again and the match resumed. Harry strained his eyes for as much clarity of vision as they could provide, moving his head to scan from right to left, and began a figure double-eight loop search pattern of the airspace starting from low and working his way up. The lightning began to increase in intensity. Harry streamlined himself as much as possible against the wind, whipping through his search pattern as quickly as possible. Another bolt of lightning flashed through the air – the light was near blinding in normal vision, but not as such in Eagle Vision. But the contrast… was that the Snitch?

He cast doubt aside and charged after the elusive winged object that was hovering in the darn middle of the pitch at over fifty feet in the air, bustling against the wind. Harry saw another ghostly blue form of another broomrider charging down at it from the opposite side of the pitch. Harry had reacted first and had a headstart, but Digorry was trading altitude for speed from the other side.

"Come on!" he threw caution to the wind and decided to employ his neophyte skill with gravity manipulation, focusing inward he reduced his own mass so his broom didn't have to pull as much weight… the burst of sudden speed that his broom had probably only achieved in the Nimbus company shop in testing was satisfyingly powerful. Harry reached out arm stretching for the Snitch… Diggory was only two broom lengths away.

Harry felt his hand close around the Snitch. He and Diggory blasted by each other with inches to spare. The rush of adrenaline was amazing – he had done it! But something odd was happening – instead of a stadium bursting into applause and cheers an eerie silence was falling across it. Then a wave of cold swept over him, the water on his broom beginning to freeze solid.

_Goddess! Not here!_

Harry stuffed the Snitch into robes securely with one hand and whipped out his wand with the other. Changing his course with only his legs to zoom towards his teammates. From the lake side, nearly a hundred dementors were gliding onto the pitch. To see them in Eagle Vision was… there were no words to describe it – it was too horrible. He couldn't protect the whole school, that had to be up to the Professors and Headmaster Dumbledore – who was thankfully in the teacher's box for the game.

"Gather round! Close as possible to me!" Harry held up his wand, pointing it up into the sky. The Gryffindor team saw it and didn't question or hesitate, thankfully, being what they were. The Hufflepuffs on their side of the field had landed behind the stands.

'_Expecto Patronum' _he thought and cast with all his will, intent and visualized what he wanted with the appropriate memory as fuel to merely defend.

His wand lit up like a massive search light had suddenly come on and a spherical dome of light zoomed out and surrounded the airborne Gryffindors.

"Blimey," Wood breathed in awe. They all breathed easier again, without the depressing influence of dementors effecting them anymore.

Harry looked to see that Professor Dumbledore was standing with own wand aloft as well. His visage and face was impressively terrible in his anger. Thousands of white wisps of Patroni shot towards the Dementors and hit them. They recoiled and began retreating, now being herded by the Patroni wisps before finally they had enough and glided off.

Once they were finally gone he dropped the Patroni spell with a deep sigh. He felt only slightly winded this time after that casting. Good.

"Harry!" Wood suddenly burst out. "Did you get the Snitch?!"

"Way to keep things in perspective, Wood," Fred grumbled. "We nearly got our souls sucked out and he's worried about…"

Harry pulled out the still snitch, its wings out and fluttering in a manner to show a successful catch.

"YES!"

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The weekend that followed was one of celebration of the win in Gryffindor Tower. Harry wanted to retreat to his Hideout for training but was rather foiled at every turn by someone dragging him into a conversation about the game or about the impressive spell he had pulled off. Hermione was especially dogged in picking his brain about the Patronus and had parked herself in the library to research it. He finally got some peace on Sunday and spent the afternoon in martial arts practice with his animated sparring partners. He was fighting two at the same time now, having gotten bored with just straight forward one on one fighting.

The return to the bustle of school and thinking about something other than Quidditch was welcome. Yes, he was good at it, and he enjoyed the sport, but the level of fanaticism of some others was just ridiculous.

It was with trepidation that they returned to Defense against the Dark Arts on Monday. "If Snape's in there I'm taking off sick," said Ron as they headed to Lupin's class after lunch. "Can you check, Hermione?"

She peered around the classroom door.

"Its fine," she breathed in relief.

Professor Lupin was back at work. Harry was impressed that he had recovered so quickly from his latest bout of lycanthropy. Yet his old robes were hanging more loosely on him and there were dark shadows beneath his eyes; he smiled nevertheless at the class as they took their seats, and they burst at once into an explosion of complaints about Snape's behavior while Lupin had been ill.

He smiled at the look of indignation on every face. "Don't worry I'll speak to Professor Snape. You don't have to do the essay."

"Oh no," said Hermione, looking disappointed. "I've already finished it."

The lesson that followed was once again enjoyable to the class. They learned about Hinkypunk; a little one legged creature that seemed as though he was made of wisps of smoke, whilst Harry's latest book was an account of the magical side of the Second World War. Though he paid in particular attention to the details of the battles fought between ICW wizards and Grindelwald's own forces. It was no surprise that facts of what he knew happened via the History in his Assassin's Chronicles and the official history books didn't mesh, but the wizarding world's account made it even harder to separate a true account of events. Was Hitler actually a puppet of Grindelwald? Or was he an Abstergo puppet in fact? Or had both tyrants been puppets – used in conjunction to destabilize the previous world order and system for the Templars to push in the current one?

When the bell rang, everyone gathered up their things and headed for the door.

"Wait a moment, Mr Potter," Lupin called. "I'd like a word."

Harry doubled back and watched Professor Lupin covering the Hinkypunk's box with a cloth.

"I heard about events at the match," said Lupin, turning back to his desk and starting to pile books into his briefcase. "Congratulations on that catch in such trying circumstances. Terrible thing that almost happened."

"And yet I note the dementors haven't been removed from the boundaries," Harry said evenly, wondering where the Professor was going with the conversation.

"No," Lupin shook his head. "Though I dare say that the Ministry is going to have its work cut out for it once word reaches the parents."

Harry nodded in understanding. "What is it you wanted to ask, sir?"

"You used a Patronus Charm during the match, not only used the base form of it but molded it in a unique derivation. Nor did you even vocalize it." His tone wasn't accusing or suggestive, just merely stating a fact. "I teach the spell to my seventh year NEWT students and most of them have yet to produce even a single wisp."

Harry merely looked at Lupin with a blank poker faced stare. "Your question, sir?"

Lupin blinked appearing slightly flustered that he had not been able to goad Harry into a reaction. "Did you learn this spell yourself?"

"Yes."

"And Spell Molding?"

"Imagination, visualization and focus," Harry feigned some irritation at this point, "it's so ridiculous how many of my peers haven't made that little connection. The Boggart lesson should have taught them that. Cookie cutter spells is all they know."

Lupin's eyebrows raised in his forhead at hearing that and then got this rather nostalgic expression on his face, "Indeed, though it's only usually in seventh year or later during apprenticeships that a wizard discovers this. Even then it's rare for them to actually master it."

"As for Non-verbal spells, it's all intent and will, we only need to speak or shout spells because as children who literally don't know themselves yet, it's the only way to force the necessary impetus and will to cast. Teachers also want to know that they are casting the appropriate spell. Hence why we only really start non-verbal spells in sixth year."

"And you know yourself, Mr Potter?"

Harry looked at the Professor coolly. "That is a personal question, Professor Lupin. I must respectfully decline to answer beyond a simple, yes. You have my guarantee that I will continue to vocalize spells in your class or any other. Also know that I study beyond the official Hogwarts curriculum on my own time because I want to excel as a wizard, I am not content to be average." Harry didn't say that his enemies were far from being mediocre so he also couldn't afford to merely be a nice good little student of Hogwarts.

Lupin smiled and laughed briefly. "I'll be sure to remember that, Mr Potter. As you can imagine, the previous holders of my post didn't leave much in the way of reliable documentation about the results of each student. So I have had to start from scratch. Your feat in the Quidditch match means your current student profile has to be amended considerably."

Harry shrugged in an unconcerned manner. "I am supposed to be 'The Boy Who Lived'. Perhaps I'm finally living up to that. If that is all, Professor Lupin?"

Lupin nodded though he looked discomfited. As Harry left, he wondered just when the man would come clean about the history he clearly shared with the Potters.

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To the Gryffindor's team delight, Ravenclaw flattened Hufflepuff in the next Quidditch match at the end of November, putting them flatly out of contention, leaving only the Ravens and Slytherin. It was with satisfaction that Harry saw that Draco Malfoy was rather subdued and disgruntled in the corridors these days. His childish little gambit to boost their Quidditch team's chances had failed and Slytherin was soundly last.

Two weeks before the end of term, the sky lightened to a dazzling ivory white and the muddy grounds were revealed one morning covered in glittering frost. Inside the castle, there was a buzz of Christmas in the air. Professor Flitwick had already decorated his classroom with shimmering lights that were actually fairies. The students were all happily discussing their plans for the holidays.

Ron was rather disgruntled this year as he'd be going home with his Twin brothers and Percy. The reason being that Harry had happened on the idea that he should go visit Hermione's home – after all, he'd gone to Ron's house the previous summer, it was only fair. Hermione had leapt on the idea eagerly and a few trading of letters by owl with her parents and it was all arranged.

There was also announced that there would be another Hogsmeade trip on the very last weekend of term to everyone delight, as they could do their Christmas shopping. Harry would have to be content to do his in London or the closest shopping district to Hermione's house.

On the Saturday morning of the Hogsmeade trip, Harry bid goodbye to Ron and Hermione, who were wrapped in cloaks and scarves, then turned up the marble staircase alone, and headed back towards Gryffindor Tower. Snow had started to fall outside the windows, and the castle was very still and quiet.

He was just about to head back to his Hideout when…

"Pssst – Harry!"

He turned halfway along the third-floor corridor, to see Fred and George peering out at him from behind a statue of a humpbacked, one eyed witch.

"Not going to Hogsmeade today, gentlemen?"

"We've come to give you a bit of festive cheer before we go," said Fred with a mysterious wink. "Come in here…" He nodded to an empty classroom to the left of the statue. Once inside with the Twins and closing the door behind them, George turned to Harry with a beaming grin.

"Early Christmas present for you, Harry," he said.

Fred pulled what seemed to be a large bit of parchment from inside his cloak with a flourish and laid it on one of the desks. It was a large, square, very worn piece of parchment with nothing written on it. Harry knew that it had to be more than it seemed, given that this was Fred and George, and carefully traced a finger along it, eyes in Eagle Vision. The parchment fairly glowed with Power, intricate designs directing how it was to be used, it was truly remarkable work and there was even a sympathetic connection to the very Castle.

"Just what does this do?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow.

"This little beauty's taught us more than all the teachers in this school. Managed to nab it from Filch's office in our first year," Fred smirked.

George took out his wand, touched the parchment lightly and said, '_I solemnly swear that I am up to no good._'

'_What an apt activation phrase_,' Harry thought with amusement.

Thin ink lines began to spread from the point that George's wand had touched. They joined each other, they criss-crossed, they fanned into every corner of the parchment; then words began to blossom across the top.

Harry felt the world change to his eyes. He looked up and saw not a grinning Fred and George Weasley, but instead Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew, about fifteen years of age. They were standing over the same piece of parchment as it activated and spelled out the words; Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs – purveyors of aids to magical mischief makers are proud to present The Marauder's Map. It was the first time they had activated the Map, the culmination of their four years of exploration of the castle and the magical education they had received.

Harry blinked and present reality returned with a snap. He shook his head to get rid of the disorientation and regarded the map of every detail in Hogwarts castle and grounds – whose most valuable feature was to present the real-time location of _every person_ in the castle. The value of this to an Assassin and to someone in Harry's position was priceless.

Fred tapped the map on the side to draw his attention to a set of passages that Harry had known was there, but hadn't had the time yet to scout for. "These go right into Hogsmeade, seven in all. Now, Filch knows about these four but we're sure we're the only ones who about _these_. Don't bother with the one behind the mirror on the fourth floor. We used it until last winter, but it's caved in – completely blocked. And we don't reckon anyone's ever used this one, because the Whomping Willow's planted right over the entrance. But this one here, this one leads right into the cellar of Honeydukes. We've used it loads of times. And as you might've noticed, the entrance is right outside this room, through that one-eyed old crone's hump."

"Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs," sighed George, patting the heading of the map. "We owe them so much."

"Noble men, working tirelessly to help a new generation of lawbreakers," said Fred solemnly.

"Right," said George briskly, "don't forget to wipe it after you've used it…"

"…or anyone can read it," Fred said warningly.

"Just tap it again and say, 'Mischief managed!' and it'll go blank."

"So young Harry," said Fred in an uncanny impersonation of Percy, "mind you behave yourself."

"See you in Honeydukes," said George, winking. They left the room, both smirking in a satisfied sort of way.

Harry smiled after them, took out his wand and blanked the map by giving the command non-verbally. He would have to disappoint them. It was very tempting to go, but nothing had changed. Given the free range that Black had shown in moving at will despite the dementors and extra security, he clearly would know that it was a Hogsmeade trip. And even if he didn't he could've been patiently staking out Hogsmeade just for another opportunity. Harry had to demonstrate the patience of an Assassin. Black would have to come for him, on Harry's terms, and not the other way around.

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The Hogwarts Express cruised steadily south and it was a rather novel experience to travel through the fields that Harry had only seen before with endless green, now covered with blankets of white snow. Hermione sat across from him in the opposite bench of the compartment, nose buried in an Ancient Runes book. Her conversations with him since this morning had been oddly stilted and she was too eager to jump on any conversation. She would smile at him in a forced manner too. He didn't need Legillimency to know that there was there was a bee in her bonnet, one that more than likely involved him in some way and she was afraid how he would react to it. Ron's behavior in excusing himself to go and sit with the twins for the journey was the icing on the cake.

Harry sighed and marked his place in the disguised book on advanced curses he was steadily progressing through. "What's the matter, Hermione?"

Her eyes looked up and she put on a rather cute totally unconvincing look of innocence, "Nothing at all, Harry. What do you mean?"

Harry's only answer was to give her a wry look.

She winced, shaking her head ruefully, "Yeah, I've always been totally pants at acting."

"So speak the truth Hermione, even should the sky fall," Harry gestured grandly. "I promise I won't bite _your _head off."

Hermione laughed but her face soon turned grave, "Ron and I were in the Three Broomsticks pub in Hogsmeade, drinking a pint of butterbeer. When who should walk in but Professors Flitwick, McGonagall, Hagrid and Minister Fudge, to have a drink. We were out of their sight but within hearing range, otherwise I doubt they would've had the conversation they did."

"What did they speak about?"

"Sirius Black at first, the search for him, the Dementors, but it quickly turned to his history and… did you know that Black was your father's…"

Harry raised a hand to stop her, "Yes. He was my father's best man at their wedding. As close friends as I am to Ron. He betrayed my parent's location to Voldemort."

"Oh Harry…" she let out a breath of relief, "I knew you didn't tell us that fact because it was so personal… but they elaborated somewhat on some details of events of that night that you perhaps don't know."

Harry took a deep settling breath, settling into a purposeful mental calm. "Go ahead."

"Your parents hid themselves via a complex spell known as the Fidelius Charm. It apparently takes a secret, which in this case was their location, and hides it within a living soul, whom is known as the Secret Keeper. The secret is shielded from divination by actually being almost erased from reality. You-Know-Who or anyone else could put be standing right in front the Potter's living room window and would see or sense nothing. Any records or knowledge of the location would also vanish."

Harry's eyes widened as the explanation continued. _Sweet Goddess_, he thought in awe, _the power of the spell is immense, and once again proved that some golden strings of knowledge from the First Civilization and the Ones-Who-Came-Before still existed in the wizarding world_.

"Sirius Black was the Secret Keeper," she continued. "So naturally he could lead Voldemort right to your family. Hagrid also mentioned that he was the one to rescue you from the destroyed home. Black arrived with a flying motorcycle of all things, and asked to take you as he was your godfather…"

"Wonderful," Harry sighed. "Can the betrayal go no deeper?"

Hermione looked at him sympathetically, "Hagrid refused, saying that he had orders from Dumbledore that you were to go your Aunt and Uncle instead."

"Oh, thank you, Headmaster," Harry commented in exasperation. He wondered what was better; to die so young at the hands of Black, or live the next ten years of emotional abuse and neglect he had suffered at the hands of the Dursleys.

"Black gave Hagrid the enchanted motorcycle to use in your transport since Hagrid couldn't apparate and his Portkey, that's a…"

"A translocation enchantment into an object," Harry waved off her explanation.

Hermione's eyes turned appreciative, "Yes, his uh, Portkey still had fifteen minutes to cycle. There was a chance Death Eaters would arrive on the scene soon, so Hagrid readily accepted it. The rest you already figured out, Peter Pettigrew, the confrontation in London, all those people killed."

Harry nodded and sat in contemplation for a while before he looked up, "Thank you for telling me, Hermione. I appreciate it, and it couldn't have been easy sitting on this."

"No, it wasn't."

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They said goodbye to Ron and his family on Platform Nine and Three Quarters, where they were taking the Floo Network to get home. Harry and Hermione emerged from the hidden portal and crossed into the normal world and its congested hustle and bustle. They headed to the King's Cross coffee shop where they had agreed to meet with Hermione's parents with trolleys leading the way.

Alan and Belinda Granger were sitting around a table with large cups of steaming coffee and both rose from their seats with beaming, loving smiles at the appearance of Hermione. Hugs and kisses were exchanged before Harry shook hands with the Grangers.

"Good to see you again, Harry," Mr Granger nodded with a pleased smile.

"And you, sir."

"How was school so far?" Mrs Granger asked after they had all taken seats.

"Wonderful, I can't wait to show you all about the new subjects I'm taking, Mom."

"It's going acceptably," Harry commented on his turn.

"Acceptably, he says," Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry. "He's really giving me a run for my money this term as top student."

Harry shrugged and only smiled in response.

"I think it's good that somebody is nipping at your heels, Hermione. Competition is a healthy thing in its proper place, it spurs you to even greater heights than you could manage on your own," Mrs Granger explained.

"Hear, hear," Mr Granger nodded.

They made light conversation until the elder Grangers finished their coffee, being mindful to edit their words properly when talking about Hogwarts. Ten minutes later found Harry back in the Granger's Mercedes and pensively staring out the window as Mr Granger navigated them through London's traffic.

Staring at the blur of passing people going about their daily lives, he marveled that it all existed in the crucible of the invisible war between the Assassins and Abstergo; a war that was fought using economics, technology and knowledge as much as it was fought with the more traditional weapons of gun and blade. Both sides knew they couldn't rock the boat too much in their struggles, because of the old saying: 'civilization is only three meals away from anarchy.' But it didn't stop the extremists on both sides from trying to find ways and methods to tip the scales over completely to their side. Of course, not that everyone wouldn't be happy to see Abstergo go the way of the dodo, the trick was in doing it in a manner that would cause the least amount of disruption possible.

The car began to speed up significantly and Harry realized that they were now on the M1 heading north-west out of London. It was another ten minutes of highway speeds before…

"Oh, I completely forgot," Mrs Granger announced with a self-reproaching air, "we need to get some extra cooldrinks and eggs, we didn't buy enough yesterday, dear."

"We can just nip on this turn-off and get some from the Rest Stop," Mr Granger pointed at the passing sign, indicating it was just a mile off. He looked in the mirror. "You two wouldn't mind stretching your legs a little?"

Harry shrugged and Hermione closed her book with sigh, "Sure, dad. We'll get it."

Soon enough Mr Granger was slowing down rapidly on the off ramp and turned into the adjoining Rest Stop. It was rather busy given that it was the holidays and cars came and went as fast as they arrived. Mr Granger was lucky to find a spot to park nearly immediately. He handed Hermione a twenty pound note and they were given leave to buy something nice for themselves that wouldn't rot their teeth.

"Honestly," Hermione sighed as they walked towards the small supermarket, "these places only have nice things that _would_ rot our teeth, unless you want a pie or some crisps?"

"Just some bottled water and a chicken pie," he was feeling slightly peckish, given that the Hogwarts Express trolley lady didn't exactly have meals for sale.

The entered the small supermarket and went about the purchases, Hermione choosing to get a beef pie and orange juice. They were on their way to the tills when Harry heard the beginning of a faint whisper. As they entered the line for till number four he definitely heard it – _Death Whispers_.

His heart began to race in anticipation and he struggled not show any physical signs of stress, but managed to calmly turn his head to the right and opened his eyes into Eagle Vision to scan the people around him.

Nothing.

He looked to his left.

Nothing.

That could mean only one thing.

Following an instinct that was screaming at him via the Death Whispers he whipped his right arm across his back and twisted in an evasion. The fact that he felt his arm connect with another arm that had been thrusting at where his back had been told him that those Whispers had just saved his life. Harry continued his twist, bringing himself back into balance, left leg behind the right of his attacker. He twisted and bent the offending arm in a lightning fast move and stepped away.

That was when the screaming began.

Harry didn't blame them. It's not often you see someone seemingly stab himself through the throat with his own knife. The attacker's eyes were wide with surprise and he was gurgling blood as he fell to the floor. Harry was rather surprised at how ordinary the guy looked, he was no hulking figure of muscle, just an ordinary, everyday guy… and that is exactly what made him an ideal killer for Abstergo.

Everyone in the area was running away now and scrambling for the exits. Harry spared a glance at Hermione, who was looking like she would throw up at any second and was as pale as a sheet. She had not moved at all, though this was more than likely because Harry had not moved and the rather grisly bloody violence rather than a re-enactment of her being frozen at the sight of Troll bearing down on her in first year.

Satisfied she was all right for the moment and after a quick scan showed no more immediate threats he began searching through the dead man's pockets. He found a wallet and quick examination found the usual stuff; drivers license, ID, money, nothing odd. Then he found a shoulder holster for a small handgun with a silencer and one magazine of hollow point rounds - all of which were enchanted to the hilt with Power that would, if his guess was right, see it go through a Shield spell like the _Protego_ as if it wasn't even there. Harry pulled out the magazine and pocketed it.

"H-h-harry. What are you doing?"

"Trying to find out who tried to kill me, though I have a fair idea already. Some evidence would be nice."

Harry wiped the blood off his hands on the dead Templar and stood up, looking at the now empty supermarket. He looked outside the window and frowned, "Hermione, duck."

"What?"

"DUCK!"

He tackled her to the ground as the popping and breaking of glass, along with thunderous crashes as bullets began to fly overhead through the aisles and punching holes into the racks. Sending products and produce flying, shredded to pieces. Hermione screamed in fright as Harry pulled her into cover, using the thick steel and wood till desk to shield themselves. He discarded his first instinct to merely apparate away with Hermione – he had seen and felt the power of Anti-Disapparition Ward going up.

"Stay down!" he shouted into her face.

"I will!"

Harry twitched his wrist and his wand was in hand. He scanned the shop and his eyes found the long line of refrigerators that had racks and racks of soda cans, bottles of water and so on. He waved his wand and the six foot tall freezers sprang to life with animation, scurrying forward on hinging steel legs that had grown from their bottoms. Harry waited until they had arrived at his position before grabbing Hermione and moving behind the four animated freezers. Bullets immediately began thudding into them.

Harry waved his wand at the till desk. It picked itself off the floor as well before another spell had it hovering in the air. He briefly peaked around his cover to get his bearings, snapping his head back as bullets wizzed by, sounding like angry bees.

He looked to Hermione and saw she had her wand out as well. "Know anything destructive?!"

Hermione winced, "Explosive Hex!"

"Dear, dear, Hermione I didn't know you had it in you!"

"I could say the same thing to you!"

Harry shrugged. "You see anybody with a gun, trying to flank us, you get them with it. No kiddy stuff! Understand?!"

She nodded, though it was clear she was running on an adrenaline high.

Harry waved his wand at the still waiting till desk, "Depulso."

It shot forward with enough momentum to crash through the glass walls of the supermarket, making a large enough exit for their animated refrigerators. They had not even taken two steps out into the open air before an Abstergo gunman tried to flank them. Harry had not chosen the freezers just because they had thick steel sides, there were also packed with heavy ammunition or a sort.

The freezer doors swung open obediently to Harry and he waved his wand at their contents. Twenty four three hundred milliliter soda cans flew into the air above his head and behind his back. "_Astyrung_." It was a spell of his own invention, based off of the Waddiwassi spell Professor Lupin had used and elements of the standard Banishment Charm. A single can of soda shot forward as if it had been the projectile in a forty-millimeter caliber cannon. There was a deafening crack as the can passed the speed of sound and the gunman was sent flying, nearly torn in half.

Harry saw another gunman on their other flank… "_Astyrung_." The bloody result was the same.

They began heading to the parking lot as quickly as their animated cover allowed.

The gunfire continued, not letting Harry poke his head around to see the enemy, as they surely knew they were dead the instant he would lay eyes on them. Then a grenade hit the top of their cover, rolled over and fell at their feet. He backed away quickly to allow one of his animated freezers to jump on the grenade. Harry threw an Unbreakable Charm onto it just in case, and the explosion merely caused its sides to balloon outward with a muffled thump. The freezer was back on its feet its insides completely destroyed.

Harry gestured with his wand and it grew bladed steel arms, longer legs and sent it off to attack.

The havoc it created was impressive, judging from the sounds of destruction and screams. Bullets were no longer keeping them pinned behind their cover and Harry peeked out. Just in time to see the animated and limbed freezer decapitating an Abstergo goon whom it had ran down. There were six attackers remaining, wearing ordinary clothes with ski masks and all carrying AK-47s.

_Typical_, he thought, _just so it can be written off as a robbery or terrorist attack_.

They were all beating a hasty retreat towards a blue unmarked van, which was waiting for them with side door open. The instant the last one was on board, its tires shrieked in protest and it sped off, not on the highway, but into the nest of roads leading off from it.

Harry's animated freezer had tried to give chase but it was too slow to compete. A commanding thought had it stop and walking back to its creator, where he promptly turned them back into the ordinary refrigerators they once were with a few Repair Charms.

They walked out from their cover and Hermione gasped at the mess made of the Rest Stop.

Harry gave her a mild smile, "I think it's time to go, don't you?"

She could only nod frantically.

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End file.
